


What Happens in Gotham, Stays in Gotham

by DarkwingSnark, Moonbeamcat



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, The Batman (Cartoon)
Genre: Food, Friends to Lovers, Guns, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Multiple Universes Colliding, Romantic Comedy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 207,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkwingSnark/pseuds/DarkwingSnark, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonbeamcat/pseuds/Moonbeamcat
Summary: A Multiple Batman Media RP. From the Mad Hatter meeting the Penguin, to Professor Crane and Jervis turning their friendship into a valuable partnership, you'll never know what you're going to get.





	1. The Penguin Meets a Mad Hatter

**Author's Note:**

> First RP-- Oswald, in desperate need to lay low, finds the villain Safe House that he heard mentions of before. There he finds he isn't alone.

After getting the snot kicked (and punched) out of him by The Bat, and then falling off a four story building, _again_ , Penguin was beginning to suspect he may have more lives than Catwoman. He scrambled around the corner and into an alleyway to assess the damage.

Not to himself, of course. He reached into his coat and pulled out the Faberge egg that had, like him, miraculously survived the beating and the fall.

“Phew! I think I’ve just found my new lucky charm!” A loathingly familiar shadow flew by overhead, snapping Penguin out of his trance. He tucked his prize safely back into his overcoat and hurried off… there would be plenty of time for admiring its intricacies later.

The Villain Safe House. An out of the way, abandoned shack, where villains go to lie low until they’re sure they’re not being chased anymore. Penguin had never used it, and it did cross his mind that maybe, just maybe, it was the reason Batman kept finding his secret hideouts. Well, no more! Tonight would be the start of a better, more thought out routine.

“ _That’s quite the_ **_shack_ ** _..._ ” Penguin mused out loud, adjusting his monocle as he spotted the place in the distance. Not nearly as large as a warehouse, but certainly more than just a shack. He wondered how the Bat hadn’t ever thought to look there. Oh, well. He was almost there. Which was probably for the best. He looked and felt like he’d been run over by a garbage truck.

He gave the door a hard push, very much expecting it to be locked. It was not. The old wooden door flew open, and he flinched when it banged loudly against the wall behind it. Oops. Well, he’d made his presence known, may as well own it.

“Hello? This place occupied?” He swung the door closed and gave a cursory glance around as he made his way to an old table and metal chair. “Guess not.” He fell into the chair, which creaked and groaned under his weight. He took out his prize, and held it up, admiring the way the moonlight glinted off its golden inlays.

“In that case, for tonight, I dub this hideout _the Penguin Roost_.”

Penguin, however, found he wasn’t alone as a deep sigh could be heard from the shadows.

_“`And just as I’d taken the highest tree in the wood […], and just as i was thinking I should be free of them at last…’ “_

Penguin squawked in surprise, twisting and turning as he desperately tried to pinpoint where the voice was coming from. The villain didn’t have to search for long, as the person made themselves known: out from the shadows, behind boxes and crates, stepped out a man. A man twice his height, though Oswald would be loathed to admit that wasn’t much of a feat. Penguin glared, drawing out his umbrella to attack if need be. The newcomer’s eyes opened wide in surprise, as the hand he was hiding in his coat went to his mouth instead.

“Oh, you’re not the bandersnatch I was dreading after all.” Taking in the fierce look he was receiving made the man stiffen, as his hand went back to inside his coat again– a glare of his own following. “Though, I don’t suppose you could still be a serpent… You’d tell me if you were, wouldn’t you? It’s only polite, after all.”

The umbrella was lowered ever so slightly, more out of confusion than trust. Penguin’s snarl lessened into a frown.

“Huh?” Nothing this man had said thus far had made any sense at all. At least his fashion sense was intact. “ _Great, holing up with a complete_ **_loon,_ ** _this ought to be a hoot._ ” He muttered, disdainfully. Either way, this man was most likely armed, and Oswald was in no condition to fight a giant tonight. He’d have to rely on the ol’ Cobblepot charm to diffuse this situation. He lowered his umbrella the rest of the way (while still keeping it handy), and smiled (although the Penguin’s smiles were never truly of the friendly nature), tucking his egg away.

“Ehh look, I think we got off on the wrong foot, here! They call me Penguin, and you are…?”

Politeness was all the man needed for him to drop his glare, as a Cheshire Cat grin spread across his face. Stepping ever closer, with a few quick strides, the man grabbed the nearest hand he could as he began shaking it vigorously.

“Not a serpent after all, but a Penguin! How d’ye do! Sorry if I startled you, I had merely thought… Well, doesn’t matter what I thought– you’re not him, and that’s that!”

The looming man gasped in surprise, his hand shaking having ceased the moment he did. He looked down at Oswald apologetically.

“Oh my, where are my manners? Here you’ve gone and given me your name, and I haven’t responded in kind. Friends call me Jervis– Jervis Tetch, that is. Though, I don’t suppose that’s the name I should be giving, is it?” Jervis paused, doing his best to recall names he had read in the paper. “You ARE a rouge, are you not? _‘You must be, or you wouldn’t have come here.’_ “

“ **_Weh!_ ** ” Penguin had to reach up and hold his hat to keep it from toppling off his head from the over enthusiastic shaking. It was hard to tell if this guy’s friendliness was genuine or not. It **seemed** genuine, but what kind of villain was this openly friendly? Oswald had the sneaking suspicion they were both faking. It didn’t matter, so long as he kept his mitts off his precious egg, he figured. It was only one night, and they may never cross paths again.

“An _honor_ to make your _acquaintance_ , Mr. Tetch.” That had come out sounding a little bit more sarcastic than he’d planned. “I can **promise** you, I’m as roguish as they come. Gotham’s number one, in fact!” His beady eyes shifted around the room, and he grinned slyly.

“ _I can also promise I wasn’t followed._ No bats in **this** roost!” He spread his arms to gesture around them. Jervis might be odd, but an enemy of Batman was an ally to Penguin. His grin faltered and he muttered, “Eh, you **_were_ ** talking about _Batman_ , right?”

Jervis didn’t give much thought to the other villain’s behavior– people in the states always did seem to have a peculiar way of holding themselves, after all. He was just happy to meet somebody with an ounce of manners– while Arkham had its share few of people he liked, he couldn’t help but think of his dear friend who had escaped some time earlier, which was what encouraged him to take his leave– on the outside, however… Well, it was always hard to tell snarks from boojums until it was too late.

Musings aside, Jervis couldn’t help but chortle a little at his new acquaintance.

“Unfortunately, I did mean him. My run ins with our Red Knight have never been on the pleasant end of things. One can’t help but be a little weary when on the outside, as I’m sure you’ll agree.” All amusement that was on his face instantly vanished, as if he was looking at Oswald for the first time.

“Oh no, you poor thing! Just look at you, you’re all in tatters! Come now, we must fix you up immediately!”

Before Penguin could begin to feel grateful for the assistance, he was instead surprised as the strange man swiped his hat, and began scurrying to the other side of the shack– where he was quick to turn on a light that illuminated an old desk that looked stuffed to the brim with first aid equipment– as well as other odds and ends.

Jervis continued to mutter, tutting as he pulled thread and needle out of the drawers.

“It pains me to see a proper hat treated so poorly…”

“Wha- **_hey_ ** !” Having his hat stolen was one of Oswald’s **least** favorite things. The fact he was in the presence of a giant made it worse; he felt even more inadequate without his hat. An attempt to retrieve it stopped short when he realized the weirdo was attempting to fix it. At least it would save him the trouble of doing it. Sewing with tiny needles was tough when you only had a few fingers to work with.

The fact his hat had been shown sympathy before him annoyed him quite a bit, though.

“Yeah, _by all means_ , make sure the **hat’s** gonna make it.” He didn’t even try hiding his sarcasm this time, using the back of his hand to wipe off the blood that had already begun to dry under his nose.  He plopped back into the chair, folded his arms, and began muttering to himself.

Jervis had been deeply focused on his work, that the sarcasm flew right over his head. He hummed in agreement, as his needle weaved in and out of the felt.

“Oh, rest assured, Mr. Penguin, I would hardly consider myself a good hatter if I didn’t.’ Luckily all the damage had been a quick tear on the side of the cap, and once it was sewn Jervis tutted again. “Sadly, with what we have here, this may be the best I can do, I’m afraid. If only we were at my home, instead, I could– well, there’s no reason to be crying over spilled tea. We must make with what we have, I just hope this will suffice until you can procure proper equipment.”

He had been smiling as he looked at Cobblepot’s hat fondly, giving it a few loving strokes, when he turned to hand back the headwear to his new friend. it was in that moment he noticed the state the other man was in– and in far worse condition than his hat had been.

“ _’Oh my fur and whiskers!’_ Just look at you!’ Jervis began to feel lightheaded as he noticed the blood on Penguin’s hand and face. Putting the hat back on the desk, he began to shift through the drawers for actual first-aid equipment.

“I feel just retched, Mr. Penguin– please excuse me, I’m usually not so rude. You should have said something– if i had known– I’m deeply sorry. sir. I’m not usually so scatterbrained– throwing my thoughts all over the place. With being concerned of bats–   _`I can’t explain MYSELF, I’m afraid, sir’ said Alice, `because I’m not myself, you see.’_ ”

While rambling his apologies, Jervis finally found the bandages and antiseptic he was looking for.

“Please, would you mind…?”

Most of that went in one ear, and out the other. This man talked in riddles, and Penguin understood none of it. Besides, he was far too distracted by the fact he’d just watched a strange man practically _fondle_ his _hat_. He took the hat when it was offered to him, but gingerly, and stared at it for awhile.

“Uh, thanks.” He replied, awkwardly, after finally deciding it wouldn’t be weird to place it back on his head. Maybe he could hire this guy to mend **all** of his clothes…

When he finally realized what Jervis was offering to do now, he felt a little silly. He’d made a big fuss about it, and really, a nose bleed, some scrapes,  and a few bruised ribs were all he had to complain about. As a Cobblepot, the thought of being fussed over was alluring, however.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. _Really._ Batman mostly just _shattered_ my **pride** when he _shoved me off of that building_ . I’ll _survive_ , I suppose.”

“A BUILDING?!” Tetch’s eyes went wide in alarm, this time his frantic nature getting the better of him as he began vigorously splashing antiseptic onto a cotton ball. “Oh, now you MUST let me try and help!”

Penguin didn’t get a chance to reply, as the Mad Hatter began dabbing away at any open wounds he could find. If he was more mindful of himself in that moment, he might have realized how queer it was to be so affectionate with a person on a first meeting. To be this concerned– but, well… it was a bat eat cat world out there ( _or was it a ‘cat eat bat world’?_ ), surely fellow rogues must look out for each other, right?

“A building though?” Jervis started again, as he continued his work. “How positively beastly! That Jabberwock had no right to treat you this way! No matter what our actions are, aren’t we but human at the end of the day? Didn’t Batman’s mother ever teach him it’s rude to meddle in others’ affairs? _`If everybody minded their own business, […] the world would go round a deal faster than it does._ ’”

By the end of his mutterings the man’s voice had grown cold, and while lost in thought he may have been a little rougher in his handling of his new acquaintance than he needed to be.

“Yeah! Four stor–”

Well, that had partially backfired. He was being fussed over, alright. But that antiseptic also _stung_ , and having the guy so up close and personal was making Oswald a little uncomfortable. He was somehow bearing it, though. That was, until the man’s tone changed and his actions began to do more than just sting.

“ **OW!** ” Oswald snarled, shoving a hand against Jervis’ chest and craning himself away to gain as much distance as possible. “Save it for the **Bat** , would ya! I’m _injured_!”

Jervis blinked a few times, Penguin’s light shoving and yelling breaking him out of his trance. Oh, there he was again, spoiling the moment with his rudeness. Maybe the doctors had been right about him after all, with his obsessive tendencies getting the better of him.

“Yes, of course… I apologize for my actions once more, Mr. Penguin. I’m afraid it’s hard to think about Batman sometimes without letting my anger get best of me…” He sighed wearily, though he was sure it was more dramatic than it needed to be. Hatter looked the man once more over, before beginning to pack up the med kit. “That should at least keep you from any nasty infections, in any case. I would offer to look over for any bruised or fractured ribs, but I feel it might be indecent to do so– my anatomical knowledge is more academic than medicinal, I’m afraid.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Thanks, _I’m feeling better already._ ” Penguin straightened his lapels. Right. Don’t bring up the Batman. **Noted.**

“So! Ah, Jervis!” He forced as much cheer into his voice as he could muster, throwing in a toothy smile for good measure. “What’s your story, anyhow? Got any skills, hobbies, super powers?”

The murderous glint he’d spotted in the man’s eye for a passing moment told Oswald that Jervis might be useful for more than just mending clothes. He was **_always_ ** looking for new partners in crime.

“Super powers? Oh, heavens no.” Jervis couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the thought of it. “I’m afraid my talent lies more in technology. You see, back when I worked for Wayne Tech, I developed cards that allowed for me to…persuade others, I suppose would be the way I would phrase it. But then a little squabble came up, causing my poor Alice to be swept away in the scuff of it– _and then a certain Jabberwock saw fit to put his nose where it didn’t belong…_ ” Hatter coughed politely into a gloved fist, taking note of his anger this time. “Ahem, in any case, it’s all much of a muchness, at the end of the day. My invention was seen as unethical, and I was put into Arkham for disagreeing. _I’m sure you must understand._ ”

Jervis might not have heard many stories, but one couldn’t live in Gotham without knowing who was terrorizing who. And during his stay at the asylum, they hadn’t had the opportunity to meet. Their comings and goings never quite meeting up, as it were. What a shame, as Jervis was finding the man to be delightful company. Once the night had passed, and he could finally leave to find Jonathan, he really must ask him a thought or two about him. It always helped to have friends on the outside, or so he heard.

“ **_Cards?_ **” Oswald spat out, cutesy get well soon cards instantly coming to mind. That really didn’t seem likely. Maybe something closer to Joker’s blade cards? A few of those whipped in your direction had the power to be pretty darn persuasive, in his experience.

But not very _technical._

“Oh, _I understand_. … How persuasive are we talking, here? Persuasive enough to convince a Bat to wander into oncoming traffic, for instance?”

The thought of it excited him so, it caused him to slide out of the chair and mime a walking motion with one hand, walking into his other hand, eyes glinting as they watched the pretend scene.

“As persuasive as your imagination, I imagine.” Jervis hummed in recollection. “Hmm, I do think I had something similar done before, though. Not with Batman, mind you. He’s a bit too on the slippery side to pin a card down. But there were these two brutes who tried to pickpocket me… well, I hear they didn’t get to finish jumping off the bridge, but I’m sure it’s the thought that counts.”

The Mad Hatter frowned, as he shook the matter off.

“Suppose we change the subject, you must be tired of me going on about myself. _I vote that you tell us a story!_ Surely being one of the greatest in Gotham creates some interesting exploits. Whatever DID cause your confrontation with the Red Knight, tonight?”

“Whuh, I, uh.” He’d been caught off guard. After being told this guy almost mind controlled a couple guys off a bridge, his tale of stealing things didn’t seem nearly as impressive. He recovered relatively quickly, though.

“I **_once_ ** harnessed the power of the **_sun_ ** ! **_Mass destruction_ ** ! Oh! And another time, I came **this** close to offing that Batgirl twerp with **_two_ ** _giant axes_ !” He pretended to chop the air, using his umbrella as a makeshift ax. He was enjoying talking about his past escapades. Most others really didn’t care, were there when it happened (and **still** didn’t care), or had a restraining order out on him.

“Came pretty close to taking out your old boss, too, now that I think about it. Bruce Wayne, that is. Small world, small world.”

“Oh! Was THAT what happened to the Lighthouse? I recalled hearing it was destroyed, but the news didn’t say a thing about HOW it happened. Did you use some type of device to amplify the bulb? It had to be that, because otherwise i couldn’t imagine why the lighthouse would be used… Or was it solar powered, in the literal sense? I suppose the peak could be a great vantage point for utilizing solar power, seeing as buildings wouldn’t get in the way…”

Jervis was rambling now, but it had been so long since he talked shop– and while people like Nygma could understand what he was referring to, Riddler wasn’t much for spilling secrets about how his devices worked.  Hatter carried on despite his best judgement.

“You know, I recall Mr. Wayne once talking about plans for building an alternate source of power for Gotham that could rival those of power plants. While I don’t have anything personal against the man, he was a very charitable boss, all things considered, however…” He paused, as he was thinking out loud rather than actually proposing ideas, “If you ever did decide to try that scheme again, that could always be an option of a power source.”

“No, no, it was **_crystals_ ** .” Penguin explained, shaking his head. “A crystal bird, and a crystal cat, a set! They were cut in just a way, when a powerful enough light source shone through ‘em, it concentrated it into a powerful laser beam! **_Pew!_ **”

Penguin slumped and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth. He’d gotten too excited again.

“Doesn’t matter, though. The cat _mysteriously_ went _missing_ after Batman **supposedly** returned them to the museums. Peh, right. _Such a_ **_big mystery_ ** _where_ **_that_ ** _ended up._ ” He glanced over at Jervis, brow raised.

“What would **_I_ ** need a power source for, anyway?” Of course he wouldn’t see the point in anything that would help anyone but himself.

The Mad Hatter was quick to procure a handkerchief from his breast pocket, while it was rude to directly say something about accidental dribble, it didn’t mean he couldn’t offer assistance anyway.

“Ah, yes, I see your point,” Jervis handed over the handkerchief, doing his best to avoid coming in contact with the now offensive hand. He continued speaking, doing his best to distract from it. “I suppose it’s all mute point if the crystals are gone now… but surely you can’t believe Batman would steal, could you? Wouldn’t that be considered a crime– or at the very least hypocritical?”

“ **_Well what else could’ve happened to it!?_ ** ” Penguin used the offered handkerchief to wipe his mouth, and then tucked it away in his overcoat without a second thought. “Look, all I’m saying is it’s _mighty suspicious_ that it never even made it back to the museum– I checked!” He’d begun to pace. “I mean, Catwoman _coulda’_ swiped it again somehow I guess… she **_says_ ** she _didn’t_ but she’s a grade-A liar… _and that’s not the_ **_only_ ** _grade-A thing about her, either, heheh._ ”

By this point it appeared he was just ranting to himself. He’d lost countless nights of sleep over that little caper. He’d been so close! And now it was on his mind again. Great.

Jervis could tell the last comment was supposedly an innuendo, though he couldn’t quite tell what it was implying. In any case, it would have been improper to ask, and so chose to ignore it all together.

“Ahem, in any case, is it possible that the original owner of the statue just took it back from the museum? I assume the piece was on loan, as many items tend to be from rich collectors. Surely it must be something to look into, I just have a hard time believing– as horrid as I find the man– that Batman would steal it.”

While saying all this, Jervis found himself pulling his watch out from his pocket to look at the time. “Ah, in any case, after everything you’ve been through, you must be famished. While I doubt there’s bread and butter, Jonathan mentioned that there might be something lying around. Something about canned goods? I mostly recalled him stressing I’ll have to help replenish it later…”

The taller man stood up from his seat, once again a looming figure as he went off to the other side of the shack where there were boxes labeled ‘food’. Jervis once again found himself marveling at the sense of community that his fellow rouges created. While he knew better than to trust everyone, still, it was nice knowing that such a place existed as a safe haven for all of them.

Though, he had to admit, he also enjoyed playing host in general. “You know,” Jervis shouted across the way, as half of himself was buried in one of the boxes, “it’s such a shame this is our first time meeting.  While I was told it would be for the best to stay away from the Joker– _‘welcome little fishes in with gently smiling jaws’_ , and all that. Yet none thought to mention that I should introduce myself to you. A slight oversight, I’m sure!”

Penguin had successfully been distracted, first by the mention of food, and then by being accidentally insulted.

“… **_No one_** mentioned me?” He whined, but sat down at the old table like a child awaiting to be served his dinner, nevertheless. “Catwoman? _Manbat?_ … **_Killer Moth!?_** **No** one?” Hmph! Typical. Of course Joker held top billing around here, even if he was an inferior villain… for the most part. The flashiest plumage always attracted the most attention.

“ _Maybe_ **_I_ ** _should start dressing like rainbow barf, maybe that’ll get those morons’ attention._ ” He mumbled, glaring at the table while he absentmindedly played with a piece of debris that had been left there.

“Well, if it helps the matter, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting them yet. I had merely meant Jonathan and Edward– oh! Should I be using our nom de plumes?” Jervis straightened himself up, as he quickly inspected the expiration dates on a few of the cans of sardines that were available. Hatter went on, even as he walked back across the room to offer the makeshift meal to his guest. “ I believe you might know them more as Scarecrow and the Riddler? As I said, I’m sure it was merely an oversight.”

It was more the smell of fish than Jervis’ words that picked Penguin’s spirits up off the ground. He greedily snatched the container without a thank you even crossing his mind.

“Oh yeah, **those** guys.” He upended the can and emptied the entire thing into his gaping maw, chewing loudly. “They haven’t had the **_pleasure_ ** of working with _El Penguino_. So I guess they wouldn’t know.” He used the back of his hand to wipe away the escaped fish juice from his face, despite having a perfectly good handkerchief he’d swiped earlier.

“They were _right_ about the _Joker_ , though. He’s bad news **and** bad company.” The frown that accompanied this statement seemed to credit his claim. That was enough on that subject.

“So what’ll they be calling **you**? The papers, I mean.” Villains rarely, if ever, went by their actual names. And while he was sure this was a face he wouldn’t soon forget, screaming headlines were louder than pictures.

Jervis couldn’t help but think of the Walrus and the Carpenter as Penguin greedily ate his fill of fish. While usually he would find such table manners rude, the whimsy of it all had him opening up another can and handing it over. ‘ _They might not be oysters,_ ‘ Jervis mused to himself, ‘ _but I imagine it would have been just about  the same spectacle._ ’

The man’s grin spread beamishly wider, as his new acquaintance asked of his villain name. ‘ _“Come, we shall have some fun now!’ thought Alice,”_ ’, Jervis yet again mused to himself, before adding aloud: “Ah, the papers saw fit to name me after the famous Carrollean character: the Mad Hatter. Surely, you must be familiar with ‘Alice in Wonderland’? It is a literary staple, after all.”

The second can of fish suffered the same fate as the first. This was nice! It was like having a servant again. The man was a natural! Oswald found himself distantly wondering if maybe he was related to the Pennyworths down the line.

“Never heard of it.” Oswald replied through a mouthful of fish. He swallowed and smirked. “ _But with the way you keep mentioning this_ **_Alice_ ** _chick, I can_ **_imagine_ ** _what kind of story it_ **_is_ ** _._ ” He gave Jervis a look over and decided that, yes, he was definitely dressed as some kind of pimp. How brazen of him! Almost admirable.

“The Mad Hatter, huh? Nice, nice. You know most folks around here go with **animal** themes. You’ve got Catwoman, _she’s into feline-related crimes_ , you’ve got **me** , I do **_bird_ ** related crimes, there’s Killer Croc, he uh. He’s a crocodile, or something…” He trailed off. Where was he going with this? Oh! “But you! Hats. And women. That’s. That’s really something. Good on you.” He didn’t get it, but it was definitely _unique._

Luckily for Jervis he didn’t have time to process what was being implied about both his beloveds, as he found himself enthralled by Penguins mannerisms. (Though one worries about how scandalized he’d be if he thought about this conversation again at a later date.)

“Oh, well,” Hatter began, twiddling his thumbs casually, “I wouldn’t say my crimes are women related. _It was just the one time_ , you see, with only Alice. But, ah– since then I’ve only been out of Arkham a few times to do a caper or two. More like mundane robberies, if anything. I’ve been trying to procure funds for my next big project: taking my technology a step further, going from placing people into non-cognitive hypnosis, to actually forcing a state of R.E.M sleep. And with it, being able to control others’ fantasies. Let them live the life they’ve always dreamed of! Why, imagine what it could do– and how it could be used!” Jervis clapped excited. “It’ll be the perfect way to get Batman out of my– all of _our_ hairs!”

“Whoa.” This man was _disgusting!_ A real deviant. Oswald felt kinship blooming. “Are we talking **_virtual reality_ ** ? Where the women only scream and slap you when you **_want_ ** them to? Where **_anything_ ** is possible? Now that sounds like a _primo business opportunity_ ! Guys’ll line up around the **block** for that kind of thing! Ready to shell out the dough for five minutes alone with their fantasies.”

He wondered if it was too late to get in on this. Both as a co-owner, and as a customer. His expression grew confused then.

“I’m not seeing how it’ll get rid of Batman, though. I mean, _I know a little action has its calming effects_ , but the **_Batman_ **? I don’t buy it.”

Women slapping people? That wasn’t exactly what made up the Hatter’s fantasies, they were more aligned with the numerous nightmares he had of rejection over the years– which had been even more predominate since a certain incident.

“Heavens no, nothing like that!” Jervis quickly assured. “I don’t want to put others through such a thing– it would merely be a gift for him, and him alone. Though, it wouldn’t be virtue reality– no holograms will be used– it’ll be more like stimulating the pleasure centers of his mind. He’ll want to remain in his own little Bat Wonderland, living the life he’s always dreamed to, and thus he’ll never be a problem for us again. All I would need to do is catch him off guard, slip on the device, and then we’ll be too busy dreaming of Red Kings to even wonder who is truly dreaming who!”

Jervis’ smile slipped from his face, as he looked down at his fellow rouge.

“Of course I’m saying all of this is theoretical. I’ll first need to build the contraption, after all. Find a pawn or two to test it on before going after the bat– but I don’t see why it wouldn’t work.”

Penguin was doing his best to understand, an awkward silence drawing out as he put the pieces together.

“Soo… the plan is to put Batman into some sort of… _good dream coma?_ Hrm.” This guy was really starting to seem like the, ‘Kill ‘em With Kindness’ sort of fellow. While every other villain in Gotham was busy thinking of ways to murder the Bat, Jervis was over here scheming about tucking him in for nap-naps.

“Well, whatever gets him out of the way, _I guess._ ” He shrugged. He supposed, in the end, it really didn’t matter **how** or _why_ Batman was gone. He had half a mind to volunteer to try it out, but honestly, Jervis’ little hobby of forcing people into wet dreams was kind of creeping him out. “Good luck with that, pal, I’ll be rooting for you.”

Creepy or not, a man with a penchant for mind control would still prove a dangerous foe… and an even more useful ally. Best leave things on good terms.

Oh, Jervis must have said something wrong. His new friend seemed displeased with his plan, perhaps it wasn’t flashy enough to his liking?

“You don’t like it, do you?” The Mad Hatter frowned, though did his best to wipe it away with a more neutral expression. “I know I’m still, well, new at this. But you must understand, I prefer to go _‘off with their heads’_ merely as a last resort, even with someone as frumious as the Batman.” He sighed. “Blood is an awful sight… and hard to clean up.”

“Although…” Jervis’ frown disappeared as he leaned in closer to Penguin, his grin once again returning in full force. “Just because _*I*_ abhor such a thing, doesn’t mean _you_ don’t have the gumption for it. Tell me, my rare Dodo of a friend, how would YOU devise Batman’s end? I’m sure you _MUST_ have thought about it a time or two!”

Penguin couldn’t help but smile at that. Now **this** was a much more interesting conversation! And, yes, he may have thought about it a time or two…

“I **have** had a lot of time to think it over back in Arkham. _I won’t bore you with the details,_ but suffice to say, it’d be **messy** and **permanent**.” He stood now, already knowing he’d be pacing again.

“Y'know one time I thought I’d finally gotten rid of him? Knocked unconscious, plummeted into the deep, dark waters of the bay, no one else around for miles. You’d think that’d be the end of ‘em, right? **_Well it wasn’t!_ **” He’d paused in his pacing to throw up his hands in frustration.

“He popped up again weeks later like nothing ever happened! And I’m not the **only** guy in Gotham that was sure they’d wiped him out for good, only for him to pop up again, either.” He’d made his way over to the table again, his hands balled into fists. He’d begun speaking through clenched teeth.

“ **_That’s_ ** why, after I off ‘im **next** time, I’ll feed his remains to my **birds** . _That_ way I **know** he ain’t comin’ back!” He punctuated this by pounding his fists on the table for emphasis. He relaxed slightly, folding his arms and slumping back into the chair, expression resembling that of a grumpy child.

“Maybe you’re onto somethin’ though. If we can’t keep the Bat _dead_ , maybe we can at least keep ‘im _asleep_.” he muttered.

“Hmm, can’t say I’m surprised– rodents refusing to drown in pools of tears is a tired trope, I’m afraid.” Hatter really wish he had found tea among the boxes– he couldn’t help but feel taking a sip from his cup would have delightfully punctuated his feelings on the matter. Still, he gave an undignified sniff of disdain instead.

Disdain was quick to turn to alarm as Penguin’s fist slamming on the table caused him to flinch. Jervis blinked away the surprise, as he looked at his companion in wonder.

“Oh my, that would be quite the feat of a feast, I suppose. Would your birds actually go for it? I’m aware they can be carnivorous, and vultures preferring to scavenge, and the like. But would you actually be able to train them to eat Batman alive, as it were?”

How beastly! How savage! How… well, intriguing of a development this was! Mr. Penguin was not only delightful company, but talented as well!

“Oh _yeah!_ You’d be **surprised**.” Now he was getting to talk about his birds. Could this night get any better? “Why I had ‘em ready and willing to gobble up Brucie’s little butler friend not too long ago. Nosy little Pennyworth broke into my home, just to steal my dinner plate, so I fed ‘im to my birds!” Oswald averted his gaze momentarily.

“ _Well, tried to anyway._ ” He mumbled. “Batman swooped in and ruined it of course, but **_they_ **were up for a little fresh meat!”

Oswald paused to lean over the table, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.

 _“Have you ever watched a bird eat a guy before? They like to start with the eyes, and the tongue. You know, the real squishy bits._ Their favorite!”

Jervis found himself swimming in dread, at the very thought of it. And with it, another Alice quote came to mind: _“I’ll be judge, I’ll be jury,” said cunning old Fury: “I’ll try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.”’_  And not a way of going out he’d wished to be sentenced to.

It was strange how many different characters the Hatter felt like pinning on his new friend. But he supposed if an Alice could grow to become a queen, then anybody could change who or what they were as many time as they pleased in one conversation.

Now Jervis really wished he had something to drink, as he attempted to swallow down his apprehension.

“I… I can’t say that’s a sight I’ve ever seen before, no. One can’t but hope to never see it face to face– or eye to beak, as it were. However, I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Penguin. I’m sure it’s an effective way of making sure none others dare cross you again.”

“You know it!” Oswald adjusted his bow tie, his ego successfully stroked. “No one in **_Gotham’s_ ** crazy enough to mess with **this** bird.” His proud grin slipped for a moment when the visage of the craziest guy in Gotham crossed his mind. “ _Well, almost no one._ ”

His joyful expression returned quickly, though. “But hey, call me Ozzy. Or, Oswald, if you’d prefer.” Real names were typically reserved for friends, but he felt pretty certain this guy was friend material, questionable hobbies aside. He stood, and stretched.

“ **Welp** , I think it’s time I hit the hay. Nice chat and uh, good luck with your meetup tomorrow.”

All queasiness and apprehension vanished, like a gentle breeze to a candle, as he instead found himself smiling. OH! So the Dodo had a name after all? Jervis shouldn’t have been surprised, he supposed. What sort of Christian name would ‘Penguin’ have been? Still, the logic of birds being named after their species had made sense.

… Not that he really considered his new friend to be a flightless bird for real… Probably.

In any case, Hatter grasped the other villain’s hand once more for a final shake.

“Oswald it is then! Such a shame we can’t stay and chat longer. But, appointments must be kept, after all. We can only ask Time to wait so long. STILL, I do so hope to see you sooner than later. I would be delighted to share your company again– hopefully without fear of twinkling bats looming about.”

Jervis found himself waving even as Penguin walked out into the night. It really was a shame that their fun had to be ended just as soon as it began. But, well… he couldn’t help but feel that this wouldn’t be his last encounter with the elusive bird.

Jervis sighed one last time, before collecting himself to make his own leave.

“I really shall have to tell Jonathan all about it. ‘Tis truly a surprise Oswald hasn’t come up in talks before!”


	2. Hatter Reunites With His March Hare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane awaits the arrival of his friend from Arkham, as he schemes his next plot of terror.

Dusk crept across a field, miles out of Gotham. Its pale, purple-hued light shone through the open loft doors of an aging, abandoned barn, painting the old wooden floor with interesting shapes.

But its lone occupant failed to appreciate the sight. He was preoccupied, busying himself in checking, and re-checking the spraying mechanisms in his costume glove. It was wholly unnecessary, of course; the setup was flawless. But perhaps it was better to occupy himself with this rather than pacing anxiously as he’d been doing earlier.

This humble abode didn’t have a television, but it did have a perfectly functional radio. It had been tuned into Gotham’s news station for two days straight, providing background noise as he waited, a companion against the silence of the countryside. A sly, satisfied smile had crept across the man’s previously morose expression when the breaking news of an escaped convict from Arkham Asylum interrupted the drone of the droll goings on in Gotham.

The radio had been switched off then. He’d heard what he’d needed to, and the silence would aid him more now. But that had been nearly an entire day ago, he was growing impatient. A familiar sound distracted him from his puttering, lifting his head to glance over.

“ _ Tis some visitor... _ ” he muttered, standing from the old work table in the corner. “ _ tapping at my chamber door. _ ”

It wasn’t the door at all but the window, but reciting only vaguely relevant quotes in any situation was a habit he’d unfortunately picked up from his preferred company. He strode across the mostly barren barn on long, lanky legs, stopping at the window and frowning at the crow perched on the sill.

“You know…” He told the bird, sliding the window up to allow it entrance. “I leave  **those** open for  **_a reason_ ** .” He told the bird irritably, a hand sweeping up to gesture to the open loft doors. The crow merely cocked its head and peered up at him with a black beady eye, seemingly containing both intelligence and nothing at all. And then it took flight, perching itself on a beam high above, looking down at its human companion with a squawk.

“You’re certain this time?” He asked, closing the window against the night chill. “One more false alarm, and I’ll-”

The bird interrupted with another, more insistent, squawk. Which was for the best; Jonathan didn’t truly have a threat handy. As much as he loathed to think about it, he’d grown some sort of attachment to the wretched creature.

“Alright, then.”

He made his way over to a corner of the barn that looked wholly out of place. Two worn, high backed, but comfortable-looking chairs sat facing each other, a tastefully colorful rug adorning the floor between. Atop the rug stood a humble coffee table. Along the wall sat a portable heater (hardly a fireplace, but it did its job), and a small bookcase that doubled as a table, with a small electric burner situated on top. Johnathan set the kettle to boil, and fished out the only two cups he owned while he waited.

**_“We have no time for a tea party!”_ ** The mask hanging on a hook insisted from across the barn.  _ “We have  _ **_people_ ** _ to terrify! There is  _ **_work_ ** _ to be done!” _

Jonathan didn’t even turn to face the thing, instead busying himself digging out the box of tea bags. These would have to do, he didn’t have any fresh leaves.

“There’s always time for–” He stopped himself with a scowl, and instead replied with, “A tired mind will do us no good. We’ll need to be sharp for the task at hand.”

The Scarecrow had no reply to that. Jonathan took that to mean his point had been made.

* * *

 

Breaking out of Arkham had seemed far easier in comparison to the long trek from the shack to the rural outskirts of Gotham. At the time Jervis’ veins had been pumping with adrenaline, and even a man of his age and stature could run and prance about, just as long as he feared being caught by a pawn… or worst, the Red Knight himself.

Yet, that was yesterday, and today was today. And while there was always a chance of being caught, it was a different matter entirely when none suspected where you had gone– or where you’d be. Even the leisure pace across the chessboard Jervis had been making was still enough to tire him eventually. 

And tired he was, as the Mad Hatter finally spotted just the barn he’d been looking for– just yonder a few squares away. Still, despite how thrilled Jervis was to be so close to his destination, his bones creaked and throbbed from overuse. He sighed dramatically, even as his own thoughts mocked him back.

_ “’You are old, Father William,’– yes, yes. I’m more than aware… But here I am, with no ointment to help keep me supple!” _

Cruel humor aside, it was just the motivation the Hatter needed to make it the remaining way. Jervis, however, stopped a little before he made it to the door– deciding then and there to sort himself out. While moving through the city, the man found himself stripping articles of clothing. His sense of fashion might have been dapper, but even the autumn night’s air wasn’t enough to keep him from overheating. 

_ ‘But that was  _ **_then_ ** _ , and this is  _ **_now_ ** _ ,’ _ Jervis’ thoughts insisted, as he put the finishing touches on fixing his tie. Not having a looking-glass to get his reflection’s opinion on the matter, Jervis just had to hope he was at least  _ half _ presentable.

The Mad Hatter took a deep breath as he walked the remaining distance to the door, knocking gently when he got there. 

“Jonathan…Are you about?” 

He at least hoped this was the right barn. It certainly looked abandoned, as his companion mentioned it would be. Still… one couldn’t help but be hesitant. Jervis was sure the last thing he wanted to do was trespass onto a stranger’s property– as he found bullets had a habit of disagreeing with him.

The human brain, in all its complexity, is a fascinating thing, but ultimately flawed. So many emotions that proved to be of little to no use at all. Such as the short burst of excitement that followed a long awaited event. Finally! The mind shouts. To what purpose?

The bird perched atop the back of the chair across from Jonathan looked to the door, and back to him, to the door, and back again, expectantly. Jonathan didn’t make any move to get up and answer the door.

“Cah?”

“Yes, yes, I heard it!” Crane took a deep breath and stood, and made his way to the front of the barn. Sliding the heavy wooden door open brought back faint memories he was quick to bury again. Standing there was a man, slightly disheveled but otherwise intact.

“So you made it!” Jonathan couldn’t help but smirk before he turned away to walk back into the barn, leaving the door open for his guest.

“You should  **really** procure some form of transport next time.” he half-teased, knowing full well that fleeing on foot was the safest means of travel. License plates could easily be followed, and a vehicle without was ten times more suspicious.

_ “‘Tis the voice of the lobster…’“ _ Jervis had originally thought, Cheshire Cat grin returning for the first time in hours as he heard his friend complain. He, of course, kept this thought to himself, as it would be rude to compare his dear March Hare to a lowly crustacean. The Mad Hatter followed his Hare inside, closing the heavy door behind him as he sighed dramatically at his friend’s first response in seeing him.

_ “‘You should learn not to make personal remarks,’ Alice said with some severity; ‘it’s very rude.’” _  Jervis’ grin, of course said otherwise as he was quick to change the subject. “Oh Jonathan, I do apologize for being late. I came just as soon as I could. I hope you’ve been keeping well?”

Or well keeping, as Jonathan seemed to have done just that. Jervis nodded approvingly as he noted the little homely nest Professor Crane had created. They weren’t of the luxurious nature Jervis had found himself preferring ever since falling down the rabbit hole and deciding that maybe he did deserve the finer things in life– YET, it was the thought that counted. The Mad Hatter couldn’t help but feel warmth spread through him as he knew the gesture was for him, and him alone– as his March Hare was not quick to invite just anybody over for tea.

Speaking of tea…

“ _ Oh, Jonathan _ ,” Jervis couldn’t help the small tear that came to his eye, as he found himself plopping into one of the chairs. “You have no idea how much I’ve been needing a good cuppa these past trying days! You’re a saint!  _ My salvation! _ ”

It was impossible to tell if his fond declarations were towards the tea or his companion, but in his state of jubilation Jervis was feeling strongly about both.

Jervis’ love of tea was fascinating; it bordered on addiction, Jonathan was sure of it. Not that this was a reliable example; it was human nature to crave comfort items, especially during times of high stress or hardship.

“I like to think I have **_some_ ** idea.” Jonathan replied. “Please, have a seat, I imagine you must be  _ exhausted _ .”

It was pointless to deny he was looking forward to having a chat with Jervis; it was rare to come across someone with a mind sharp enough to warrant intelligent conversation. But, admittedly, nearly any company would have been a step up from the crow.

Craving the occasional human interaction was human nature, too. He’d long come to accept that.

“Tea straight from the kettle, you’ll have to rough it for tonight, I’m afraid.” He let his sarcasm be known. He had no tea pot, nor did he know if any place to procure one.

“I’ll manage, I’m sure.” Jervis replied, not letting his friend’s teasing get the better of him. “In this case, ‘ _ I like what I get’ _ just as much as _ ‘I get what I like’ _ .”

Not a perfect quote, but it too would have to do. Jervis began pouring a cup for each of them– not even letting Crane have the opportunity to turn down an offer. The dark coloring told him that Jonathan had let the tea stew for far too long, but it was true what he had said– by this point anything was better than none.  _ ‘It’s very easy to take more than nothing’ _ , the Hatter quoted to himself, as he let the subject be. Noting there was no sugar resting on the coffee table, Jervis took it to mean there was none, and with that assumption went to down his tea instead.

His drink was nearly spilled, however, as Jervis was surprised by the sudden loud squawk next to his ear. He was just as quick to realize that the noise also had a bird attached to it– the IT sitting right on the back of his chair.

“ _ ’Well!  _ **_What_ ** _ are you? _ ’” The Hatter couldn’t help but laugh in relief. Jervis went to scratch the underside of the crow’s beak, as he continued. “ _ ’I can see you’re trying to invent something’ _ –it doesn’t matter, for I can clearly see what you are.My, what beautiful plumage! ” 

He turned to his Hare.

“I didn’t think you had a habit of keeping pets, Jonathan.  Does your friend come with a name?”

Jonathan thanked Jervis for playing host, and took a sip of his drink… immediately unable to stop the grimace the bitter taste caused. He bent over and opened the doors to the little coffee table, rummaging around inside.

“Hm?” He’d found what he’d been looking for, but, distracted by Jervis’ question, attempted to right himself in the wrong way, hitting his head on the small door frame before he’d made his way back out.

“Oh.” Rubbing his head with one hand, tossing four packets of sugar ( each clearly marked with a popular fast food logo) onto the table with the other, he frowned at the crow currently being coddled across from him. “He’s been  _ useful _ , but I’d hardly call him a friend. Birds don’t  **make** friends, they  _ acquire acquaintances _ out of  _ necessity _ .”

He opened and poured a packet of sugar into his cup and tasted, deciding this was at least bearable.  

“What would a  _ crow _ need with a  _ name _ ?” His tone was less harsh this time; he was genuinely curious.

Jervis had been too busy with the crow to instantly notice the new addition of the sugar packets, as he continued to coo out responses.

“There’s some comfort in names, I find. Why, poor little Alice found herself distraught when she walked into the woods and couldn’t recall what a single thing was called. But I suppose that’s a bit of a different discussion.”

Jervis turned away from the bird–who by this point had hopped its way into his lap, as he began to pet it as one would a house cat– as he again addressed the professor. 

“If you have no feelings one way or the other, I would suggest ‘Nevar’. A sophisticated name for a sophisticated beast.”

It was then that Jervis finally noticed the packets of sugar on the table. While he, too, had found his tea too bitter for his liking, it was far too late to turn back now. Here he was, lap full with bird, and it would be very rude of him to shoo the creature away, merely to reach the remaining way for it. No, it wouldn’t do. And to prove his point to himself he took another sip of his drink. 

“ _ Nevar…? _ ” Jonathan’s brow furrowed as he tried making sense out of the suggestion. While Jervis’ references were often obscure and sometimes outright ridiculous, he found they always held  **some** form of sense and reasoning. His brows shot up as soon as he got it.

“Quote the raven–  **_and_ ** it’s Raven backwards, isn’t it?” He was actually smiling now. “That’s doubly clever, Jervis. Alright, fine. Nevar it is. Though I doubt it makes a difference to  **him** either way.” The crow, newly dubbed Nevar, cocked his head to look over at Jonathan, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn the thing was smiling at him.

He took another sip, before adding, “And he  **is** a crow. Not a raven.” He decided not to mention he’d likened the crow to a raven only earlier the same day. “But a cleverly fitting name nonetheless, I suppose. If he must have one.”

Jervis did his best to hide under his hat as he bashfully took the praise. Crane didn’t have a habit of complimenting others often, Jervis having the impression he didn’t think highly of most people he met. There was something to the thought of being deemed ‘passable’ to someone who preferred his own company.

Jervis found himself smiling from amusement as the professor then began correcting him.

“It’s all much of a muchness, though I’m delighted to hear you approve” He waved the matter off before addressing the crow again. “In any case, you are most certainly the friendliest bird I’ve met, Nevar, even if you’re only the second one I’ve happened upon today.” 

The Mad Hatter turned his attention back towards the professor, not in the slightest finding it strange to hold two conversations at once. 

“I went to the shack first, you know, just as you suggested. I had only just changed out from those horrible clothes Arkham loves to dress us in, when a visitor came by. I’m surprised you never once mentioned what lovely company the Penguin was!”

This prompted a chuckle from Jonathan… that ended abruptly upon searching Jervis’ face for jest and finding none.

“Oh. You were serious.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, his good cheer turning into another frown. “Well, I’ve only ever met Mr. Cobblepot once. A man so easily read is  **hardly** worth bringing up in polite conversation.” The cup froze half way to his face, and lowered again, his gaze far away and thoughtful.

“Although,  _ really _ ... you put a patient people pleaser in the same room with a dim-witted  _ narcissist _ … I’m surprised he didn’t keep you there  **all night** , going on about himself. …  _ What _ , exactly, was so lovely about this encounter?”

While it was easy to understand why Penguin would enjoy Jervis’ company, and that Jervis would have, obviously, politely put up with Penguin’s less-than-pleasant personality, Jonathan had a hard time imagining how or why Jervis would have been able to enjoy himself in the slightest.

_ People pleaser! _ Jervis found himself huffing in silent indignation, before deflating as he realized that was a very accurate description of his character. Though,  _ really Jonathan _ , he didn’t have to be so blunt about it! 

As for the man they were discussing…

“Well, if you MUST know,” the Hatter began, stiffening some in his chair as he went to explain himself. “While I would agree that he had a very healthy sense of self worth, I found Mr. Cobblepot’s mannerism and way of speaking almost endearing– he most certainly had a lot of enthusiasm as he spoke about past blows with the Red Knight!”

Jervis was just about to take a sip of his own tea when a sudden memory of his past exchange came to him.

“It’s strange you mention meeting him. I asked if he had ever heard of you or Edward, and he seemed very insistent that he only knew you by name. A mere slip of the memory, I hope? I would think it practically impossible to forget the Master of Fear, after all.”

If it had been said by anybody else, the last remark might have been seen as sarcasm. But, as far as the Jervis Tetch was concerned, it truly WAS impossible to forget somebody like Jonathan Crane.

“I’m not surprised one bit.” Jonathan answered immediately, and sharply. “We met in Arkham. I doubt he pays much attention to the men behind the masks.”

The way Oswald had been ranting on and on about how he didn’t belong there, how powerful the Cobblepot name was, and how sorry they’d all be one day, Jonathan doubted very much that he’d taken notice to whom he was speaking at all. At least the man had calmed down in years past. Arkham had a way of breaking everyone’s spirit eventually.

“I doubt we would have been able to keep up much of a conversation, anyway. He prefers a more  _ Joker brand of company _ , from what I understand. In any case, I’m glad you managed to enjoy the encounter, despite the odds being so against you. Perhaps his alliance will prove helpful in the future.”

His gaze fell to the ball of feathers that had fallen asleep in his guest’s lap. The corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement.

“ _ That _ will teach you to spoil him. I take it you’ll be sleeping where you sit tonight, then?” He’d taken notice to Jervis’ refusal to disturb the bird earlier. He imagined he’d be stuck there now until Nevar awoke.

_ ‘He prefers a more Joker brand of company’ _ . Jervis couldn’t help but blink in surprise at the phrase, as it was yet another opinion about the man that didn’t seem to meet up with the Cobblepot HE had met. 

“How strange you say that, considering he did agree with your assessment of staying clear of the Cheshire Cat…” Then again, Jervis supposed saying one thing could very much differ from one’s actions. The Hatter couldn’t help but smirk in amusement at how very Wonderlandian it was to do the opposite of one’s own advice. “In any case, I do believe if given the opportunity I may call upon his company again. I don’t suppose it would hurt to make friends in all sorts of places.”

It was after Crane’s comment of the bird in his lap that his smile slipped from his face.

“Oh! I do so wish he hadn’t have done that.” Jervis pouted some as he realized what this ultimately meant. “I really had hoped to sleep properly tonight. But…” Jonathan had been right, now that he knew that Nevar was asleep in his lap, he shan’t move an inch. It was universal law that one doesn’t disturb comfortable creatures, after all. Tetch sighed dramatically, though his smile did return as he looked back down at the guest his lap was playing host to.

“Well, maybe he’ll awake sooner rather than later, and I shan’t have to worry then. “ He turned back to the man across from him. “I’m not keeping YOU up by any chance, am I, Jonathan? I know Gotham tends to be the city of the night, but I’m sure it must be terribly late by this point.” 

Jonathan said nothing upon hearing Oswald had warned Jervis of the Joker, but a brow was raised, and a faint amused smirk played across his lips. Oh, yes, he could think of various reasons why he might have done that. The smirk was quick to fall back into a neutral position when another voice decided to butt in.

**_“The Master of Fear needs no sleep!”_ **

Crane’s eyes shifted slowly over to the mask hanging on the wall, and then slowly back to Jervis, expression non-changing.

“I don’t make a habit out of sleeping at night. Too much work to be done.” He set his empty cup on the table and folded his arms, a position of comfort rather than a display of upset. “You’re free to use the loft if you’re tired, though. Hay is  _ hardly _ luxury, but again,  _ you’re roughing it tonight. _ ”

He stood, floorboards creaking delightfully as he made his way to the middle of the barn.

“Tomorrow there will be plans to go over, tomorrow **_night,_** _Gotham will know true terror_.” Granted, it wasn’t _all_ of Gotham, mostly just the security guards at one factory, but it had certainly **sounded** good.

Jervis Tetch enjoyed the company of others that were enthusiastic about their work. To him, it was a rare treat to find another equally passionate– while Wayne Tech had been a place of innovation, management had a habit of separating those that didn’t fit exactly so into neat and organized boxes. Dr. Cates had seen Jervis’ shyness and quirks as not fitting into the mold, and had quickly made sure he was kept away from the others. On one hand, the Queen of Hearts had done him a service– it certainly kept him from being distracted from his work, as he did in time come to succeeding in his goal. Yet, on the other… isolation sometimes seemed crueler than simply shouting ‘Off with his head!’

But that was what made interacting with his March Hare so fascinating! Here was a man just as dedicated to his work as the Hatter, and understood the trials of having Time be against him. While the Hatter might not have had the same education, when it came to the development and traumas of the brain, Jervis had understood early on that at the end of the day they had the same goals: their need to control their environments.

And this had been the fleeting thought that had passed through him as he watched his companion talk about their plans for the morrow, continuing his happy high of kinship and the feeling of being understood.

“Well, if you don’t plan on becoming one of the Red King’s dreams, then I would preferring waiting as well. Would you mind if I kept you company as you worked? Anything I should do to prepare as well? I was able to procure a few of my cards and revolver, but until after the heist, I think I’ll be roughing it in more ways than one.”

Ah, so Jervis was too excited (or nervous?) to sleep, no doubt. Jervis might live with his head in the clouds, but he knew when to take things seriously, at least. Jonathan appreciated that … he wasn’t planning on having company throughout the night, nor was he used to such, but he found he didn’t mind the thought. Besides, if they got the planning out of the way tonight, perhaps there would be time for a few hours of rest come morning.

“Do as you wish. And I wouldn’t worry too much. The gun might prove useful insurance, but if my new formula is as potent and effective as expected, you should only need to know what needs swiping.” He turned and walked off to a crate in the corner. “Which reminds me…” He picked the crate up, straining slightly under its weight, and walked it over to plunk into atop the coffee table in front of Jervis. This, as he’d hoped it would, awoke the bird, who hopped sideways in alarm, before jumping back up to sit on the back of Jervis’ chair to preen itself.

“You’ll need one of these. I’d make sure and find one that fits snugly.” The crate was filled with at least fifteen gas masks, all different shapes, sizes, and styles.

Jervis also found himself jumping as the crate hit the table– hand reaching for the racing heart beating against his chest. The blond man had wanted to protest and ask if he must scare him so, but seeing who he was rooming with… Well, one must expect the Master of Fear to scare them at least some of the times, he supposed.

Jervis instead choose to sigh, drawing his hand from his chest as he peered into the crate. Ah, yes, the toxins. It made perfect sense for the Hatter to wear protection, least he too be writhing in fear from its affects. Still… such a shame it will throw off his look.

The man didn’t have to search for long, as only moving a few of them around caused something metallic to glint among the items. “ _ ’Curiouser and curiouser’ _ ,” Hatter couldn’t help but mumble to himself, as he went to dig the item out. Jervis’ eyes widened in glee as he held the golden gas mask and goggle headpiece in front of him.

“ Oh!“ Jervis exclaimed as he continued to inspect the mask over. “Jonathan, what a vibrant piece of headwear. I can’t imagine where you might have picked up such a piece.” 

He didn’t wait for a response as he went to remove his hat to try it on. It felt a little snug, but not enough to feel too restricting. Adjusting the goggles, he returned his hat to his head as he smiled under his mask towards his friend.

“What do you think? Not too obnoxious, I hope?”

It didn’t really matter much to him if it was, as the Mad Hatter had a feeling none of the others would be even close to matching his aesthetic anyway.

Jonathan was wholly unimpressed. The man had adorned a gas mask, an unavoidably unsettling piece of equipment, _known specifically to look horrifying_ ,and still somehow managed to look pretty. That was just the Jervis Tetch brand. So far off from Jonathan’s own aesthetic. If it weren’t for their like-mindedness, the two of them would clash in the most unflattering way. In fact! It was probably for the best those fools at the factory would be hallucinating, or his getup might actually **detract** from Jonathan’s fear index.

“It suits you.” He answered, honestly. “In fact, you should add it to your everyday ensemble!” He didn’t actually believe that, it was just his smart ass way of telling him he should keep it. Jonathan would never wear it, anyway, and it was a handy item to have in their line of work.

“Have you been to this place before?” he questioned, returning to his work desk to retrieve the factory’s floor plans.

Jervis had already been following behind his friend, as he took off the mask. His large amused grin, mixed with his now mussed-up hair, only added to his madcap appearance. He chuckled, placing the mask on the table before straightening up his hair with his gloved fingers.

“I don’t know about adding it to my ensemble, but a Hatter is not one to turn down the offer of head-wear. It shall make a fine piece to my collection, in any case, thank you.” 

Feeling his hair now back in place, the blond man sighed contently as he looked over the map his friend had sprawled out onto the tabletop.

“Hmm? Oh, yes! Intrigue Inc. used to do business with Wayne Tech. I imagine they still do, even since my departure from the company. Wayne prefers outsourcing for smaller computer parts, so the company can put it’s focus more into programming and creating the next innovation in medical appliances.” He paused as he studied the map. “Dr. Cates wanted more immediate results with my research on using microchips to enhance the brain, and that required me using my free time to personally pick up the equipment. I was only lucky that the costs came from Wayne’s pockets, and not my own.”

Tetch pointed to the back entrance portion of the map.

“There is only one security checkpoint, connected to Intrigue’s parking lot. I don’t imagine they will be much trouble to dispose of. Inside, however, well… That will be a bit of a different story.”

“Only one? How generous! In that case, I suspect our biggest obstacle may lie here…” He tapped a finger against the room labeled ‘Security Room’.

“Any chance of you using some of that Wonderland charm to convince them to switch off the camera and alarm systems?”  _ Wonderland charm _ , of course, meaning his cards, although Jonathan had a passing, absurd thought that Jervis may actually be able to convince them simply by asking them nicely. The alarms were only an issue if they alerted the police, but Jonathan wasn’t of the mind to be taking any chances.

“After  **they’re** out of the way, the tech should be free for the taking, and the rest of the lab rats ready for the testing.” Jonathan steepled his fingers together in mildly suppressed excitement. While Jervis busied himself swiping what he needed, the rest of the security guards were his to terrify.

“Mmm, I believe  _ I can charm them with smiles and soap _ ,” Hatter responded playfully, knowing full well what his Hare was really referring to. “From there,  I may use our little oyster to help carry a parcel or two, but other than that, why, walking close at hand, dear Carpenter, _ would  _ be grand!” 

Jervis paused as he realized he may have been mixing too many references at once, as he continued to explain his thoughts:

“ _ That is to say _ , having you follow and douse along would be most suitable, I think. There are a few halls between security and manufacturing, and I’m sure we’ll come upon someone sooner or later.”

Night-shift workers did exist, after all. While security would be sparse and thin, since Intrigue relied on their alarm systems for most of their defenses, it didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be a pawn or two to worry about– most likely guards paid to patrolled the halls.

It was a lot of small matters to consider at once, and while Jervis did find himself anxious about what could go wrong… He did take comfort in knowing at least he wasn’t going about it alone. Hatter smiled at his friend’s excitement, as he carried on.

“That all said, is there a plan of what we shall do after we got what we need? I imagine we will at the very least acquire transportation for a speedy getaway. “ Jervis paused as another idea occurred to him. “Unless… should we consider bringing a change of clothes, to avoid being seen by civilians before returning here? Scaring guards locked inside a factory is one thing, being recognized and alerting the Jabberwock is another entirely.”

“Well--” Jonathan felt frustration begin to rise at the realization there was so much he’d failed to consider. But it was squashed by relief; he felt much more certain no mistakes would be made now there were two minds to think of every little detail.

**_“We need no disguise! Let them see! Let them gaze upon us and know true fear!”_ **

“I have a truck out back, but I don’t suggest we take it within city limits. It doesn’t have a license plate.” Nor had it been legally acquired, but he felt that went without saying. It would at least save them walking a couple miles.

“ _ As for a disguise _ ... I’ve stitched together plenty of terrifying costumes, but blending into a crowd has never been my forte. What would  **you** suggest?” He glanced over at his companion, heavily doubting, from his current getup, he would be any better at not standing out from a crowd.

“Taking off a mile or two sounds wonderful, to me.” Jervis shuddered recalling the miles he had gone just to get to his friend’s hideout. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to going through that  _ again _ . Yet, if the journey could be cut down by half… “We’ll take your vehicle then, making sure we park far enough to avoid suspicion. As for clothes…”

Jervis looked the professor over, noting that he was wearing his Scarecrow attire, sans mask. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have kept your hospital clothes, perchance?” Jervis had done everything he could to relieve himself of the white uniform, feeling washed out from the lack of colors. He doubted his Hare had shared the same compulsion. “I feel we may need to shop before our heist, and I’m afraid your red top might draw too much attention while doing so.”

“ _ Clothes shopping? _ ” Jonathan made a face. “Delightful.” He knew he was being needlessly difficult over a simple thing, and he also know that Jervis had a point. His asylum uniform had long since been used to clean up spilled oil. A shopping trip seemed unavoidable. And, honestly, it might prove useful to  **own** a set of civilian clothes again.

“Very well. I think there’s a second hand shop down the road a ways.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the store. “We can take a ride there tomorrow, so long as you don’t mind sampling a little more of the countryside.”

Jervis had been worried at first when he saw the displeased scowl Crane had made at his suggestion. It was quick to evaporate, however, as the man agreed to his plan despite not relishing it. 

“ _ Frabjuous _ !” Hatter clapped his hands with joy. “NOW, _ if there isn’t anything else we need to discus… _ ” He waited for a disagreement from the professor, and found he received none. He carried on. “Then, I suggest we retire to bed. Tomorrow has practically become today, already!”

_ The following day Jervis Tetch would fret about his troubles, that night, however, he would enjoy the pleasant sleep of freedom. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of specific references to Lewis Carroll's 'The Hunting of the Snark'. It is genuinely my favorite piece he did, and is where my nickname comes from. So I would recommend giving it a read. Not that you need it, just that it's amazing.


	3. Joker Makes Plans With the Ozzinator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker, after feeling spurred by Batman ignoring his petty vandalism, chooses to give ol' Pengy a visit. The Mad Hatter and Scarecrow aren't the only ones who come up with plans that night.

Perhaps more akin to a homing pigeon than a penguin, Oswald had returned to the old Cobblepot mansion after he’d left the safe house. With how many hideouts he had by that point, he didn’t see the harm in it… and this was the only one with an actual bed.

Which was where he was now, clad in boxer shorts, his white undershirt, and a pair of socks. His vest, bow tie, overcoat, and pants were tossed over the back on a chair in the corner. His hat and monocle sat next to a broken lamp on the bedside night table. The Penguin himself was sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep, snoring loudly and occasionally muttering. The Faberge egg he’d stolen lay on the pillow beside his head, where he’d fallen asleep cuddling it.

He slept soundly, convinced that, thanks to his ingenious planning ahead in stopping by the safe house first, his sleep would be uninterrupted by a pesky Bat, trying to take what rightfully belonged to Oswald now.

* * *

 

Clowns are known as beings of endless entertainment– they eat, breathe, and sleep with humor in their souls. It is their right, nay, DUTY to search for comedy. One couldn’t get mad at a clown for fulfilling this basic instinct, it was written in their very DNA! And it was this instinct– _this pursuit for fun_ – that led one clown down the streets of Gotham.

Joker snickered to himself as he went about with his green can of spray paint, melting graffiti into all that he could. Some walls were met with smiley faces, some were met with inappropriate derpish icons that a meme connoisseur would be sure to recognize. The criminal had just put the finishing touches on his crazed printing of ‘ _Joker Was Here_ ’ on a random car, when the spray’s stream began to sputter.

“What’s this? Out already?!” Joker gave the can a vigorous shake, and tried again. His frown worsened in severity when he noticed it didn’t help. “Great! Here I go testing out my new Joker Brand™ product, and already my can’s load has pooped. Property destroyed with not Bat in sight, _what’s a poor clown to do_ **_to get a good chuckle around here?!_ **”

Joker was almost tempted to just start causing actual destruction, which, while taking away from the humor of his original joke, would help cure his bad case of boredom. For a guy so green, he was practically feeling blue!

Before he could start kicking down doors, forcing himself into random homes to create a literal captive audience, it was then that he noticed where he was. Older side of Gotham– where the blacktop met cobbled roads? WHY, that meant he was in PENGY’S neck of the woods! What a LARK it would be to swing by his old family’s home, and give that bird a smooch in greetings. And if he wasn’t in that nest that night…

Well, _there was no reason he couldn’t leave a surprise there for when he did return._

And it was with this train of thought Joker bounded down the streets, his giggling escaping him once more. The clown had found his next source of entertainment after all…

* * *

 

Penguin’s mistake made itself evident with a giant crashing sound. He awoke with a squawk, and shot up in bed, eyes wide in alarm.

“ _Batman…_ ” Oswald grumbled with a scowl. So he’d been followed, after all. What was the point in the safe house, then! He reached over to grab the egg, nuzzling it briefly before tucking it safely under his pillow.

“You stay here where it’s safe, _Papa Penguin’s got a_ **_Bat_ ** _to squash_.” He grabbed his umbrella from beside the nightstand, and hopped out of bed. A blade flipped out from the tip of it as he made his way down stairs, ready to fight for his treasure. Again.

 **“Batman!** _Where are you_ …” He was in no mood for hide and seek after being woken up like that.

 

* * *

 

Joker had been doing his best to sneak up to the property. And by ‘sneak’, he meant he had kicked down the manor’s doors.

“ _HONEY, I’m hooooome~_ ”

Silence. A real _banger_ of a one liner, and all he was greeted with was **silence**. Joker could swear he even heard an actual cricket chirp, which only made his frown deepen into a full blown scowl.

“I’d say it’s a tough crowd, _but I can’t even FIND them!_ ” The crazed criminal perked up with interest as he heard a loud squawk coming from the upstairs, followed by some additional floundering.  “Ooo, spoke too soon!”

Joker knew that bird call from anywhere, no doubt Penguin was there. He had to restrain his own infectious laughter as he properly sneaked to the side of a wall, waiting for just the right moment.

The right moment quickly came as Penguin charged his way down towards the foyer room. Joker couldn’t hold back his glee as he walked out of the shadows.

“Calling out another man’s name? Why Pengy, _you’re breaking my heart!_ ”

Penguin spun around before he’d even placed the voice; Batman had somehow gotten behind him, he was already at a disadvantage, it– was not Batman. Relief and apprehension fought for dominance… not Batman, but still technically a danger to his overall health.

“ _Don’t_ **_do_ ** _that!_ ” he scolded. “I was _this close_ to carvin’ you a new smile.” He pointed the umbrella in his general direction to punctuate his point. He considered doing it anyway. This creep still owed him a hundred grand, though. The blade slid back into the umbrella and Penguin sighed.

“What do you want? _I was sleeping_.”

Joker smiled at the blade pointed at him, before glancing down at the shorter man.

“Nothing wrong with having TWO smiles. The more the merrier, I always say!” He took his finger and used it to poke the tip of the umbrella away from himself. “Speaking of smiles, that’s why I’m here! I heard you were out on the town tonight, and it made me curious to see what could get a bird like _you_ leaving your nest.”

Joker leaned close, this time inspecting the man over.

“Bruise forming by your beak, that patented agitated scowl– **You ran into Batsy!** No WONDER i couldn’t get his attention tonight!”

After his earlier conversation with the Hat Guy, Penguin would have taken pride knowing Joker had been snubbed in lieu of him. Except Batman was the one person he didn’t want to be noticed by. But at least _someone_ was paying attention to his escapades… even if it was just **this** fruitcake.

“You were **_trying_ ** to get his attention? … **_On purpose_ **? You’re even nuttier than I thought!” A life of crime really was just a game to this guy.

“Well if you must know…” He turned and strode away, a proud, confident smile on his face. “I did a little _grocery shopping_ . I was running low on **eggs** , you see. Picked up a _bea-u-tiful_ specimen…” He turned to scowl at Joker again.

“But if **that’s** what you’re here for, _you can forget it_ ! It’s mine! It’s hidden in a top secret location, that only **_I_ ** know about.”

“ _Pengy, Pengy, Pengy.._ .” Each utterance of the nickname came out like a tut from the Joker’s red painted lips. “What could I possibly need or want an egg for– _gilded or otherwise?_ There’s no **punchline!** ”

Joker took amusement in the startle cry Penguin gave as he jumped closer- getting close to the man’s ear as he whispered in it. “Besides, everybody knows you keep your _personal items_ under your pillow anyway.”  The crazed criminal used that moment to then audibly _‘boop’_ the man’s nose, his laughter yet again erupting from him.

Penguin gasped in horror. How did he know! Had he been in his room before? Rifled through his personal belongings? Oswald felt so defiled. But being unhinged and unsettling was what made Joker… the Joker. He made the guy who has conversations with his doll all day seem like a well adjusted member of society.

“Well then what **_do_ ** you want?” He was starting to get the impression he was only here looking for entertainment, since Batman seemed to be giving him the cold shoulder. Ha! Oswald smirked. “Did you come here looking for advice on how to get _Batman_ to notice your little _party tricks_?”

Even Oswald knew that taunting this guy was probably a stupid idea. But he was also still holding multiple grudges.

“ **PARTY TRICKS?**!” the Joker roared. How dare the little gremlin accuse HIM of being some common clown. He was the Chair-Meister of Chuckles! The Prince of all Jokers! All of Gotham feared and respected him! Why, if he so chose to, Joker could even waltz up to Bruce Wayne and cause him to DIE from laughter!

It was with that thought that all anger inside of him vanished, doing a flip as inspiration struck him– a plan that was sure to get the Bat’s attention. Joker was yet again all smiles, as he picked up his shorter pal as he began spinning him around the room.

“Party tricks! That’s it! _Oooo_ , Pengy, I could just _kiss_ that rotten maw of yours!” He unceremoniously dropped the man as he continued to giggle. “But then I might owe ya another 100 grand, and nobody’s got money for floozies when there are party crashes to plan! _How about it? How_ would you like to help me, _help you_ , in stealing money from right under Bruce Wayne’s crooked nose?”

Penguin’s head was still spinning as he glared up at the madman. He would have had a mouthful of insults to shoot back, had he not been promptly distracted. He wasn’t sure what Joker had against Mr. Wayne, but did it really matter?

… Besides, there was a **reason** Penguin often tried to get Joker to team up with him. Joker was Gotham’s second most dangerous criminal. He _respected_ the guy, that didn’t mean he had to **like** him. A team up of the two of them might actually be enough to put a hurt on more than Brucie’s bank account.

“Alright, I’m listening…” He replied, getting to his feet, and grabbing to replace his hat before remembering it was still up stairs in his bedroom.

He was hoping Joker didn’t plan on going back out tonight… he was tired and sore, and Batman was definitely still looking for him out there.

Joker figured Penguin would be hooked just by mentioning the billionaire’s name. Pengy never could hide the fact he had a soft spot of annoyance for the guy. Still, _anyway he could get him to play along worked for him!_

“Just picture this– two of us, decked out in our best ware, as we crash ol’ Brucie’s charity fundraiser he’s holding this weekend. Something about fish, or orphans, or fishes FOR orphans, bah!” Joker waved off those little details, they didn’t matter, after all. “Either way, it’s supposed to draw out the big money, and I KNOW you have a thing for green confetti! I don’t care for the stuff either way, I just know it’ll be a _sure-in_ for catchin’ me a Bat off the port side of Waynie Boy’s yacht!”

“He’s got himself a **_yacht_ ** , too? **_Come on_ ** !” Penguin whined, throwing up his hands in exasperation, expression that of a defeated pout. Oh, he hated that guy! But he _loved_ fish, **and** the thought of shoving that entitled rich-boy overboard. Maybe with an anchor as a parting gift.

The thought of _Batman_ being on the guest list wasn’t as appetizing, though. Would he really know if something went down way out there? Bats were lousy swimmers. But Joker knew the guy better than anyone. If he said Batman would be there, he would probably show up. Uhg.

But taking out Wayne and the Bat at the same time didn’t sound too bad at all.

“Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal!” He grinned and offered a hand to shake out of habit, but quickly retracted it. Past experiences told him it was for the best. “Er, do you, _plan_ , or do you just sorta, _show up to places_?” Joker didn’t seem like the planning type, but he was also full of surprises.

Joker smile was wide, showing off his grin that looked like it could chomp off a couple of fingers. He gave Penguin’s shoulder a tight squeeze, before walking off to where Penguin’s fallen doors still laid on the floor.

“Oooh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about THAT, Penguin. You just come dressed in your Sunday’s best, and I’ll have a car drive by to pick you up.” Joker waved, back still turned towards the shorter man.

“ _Tootaloo_ , Pengy– **_I’ll be waiting with bells on_ **!”

The crazed criminal yet again didn’t wait for a response as he ran into the Autumn night air– this time with a pep in his step. It was always nice to end the day with something exciting to look forward to. With a date like Penguin on his arm, _and enough Joker venom to make even himself blind,_ he was SURE to finally get Batman’s attention!

Penguin was smiling as he watched the Joker leave, excited for the chance to show up that Bruce jerk… that is, until he noticed his destroyed doors. He jogged over to inspect the damage, and then, standing in the doorway, shook a fist in the air and yelled,

 **“My** **_doors_ ** **?** **_Really?!_ ** **”**

But the clown was far too gone, in more ways than one.


	4. All the Old Ladies Are Crazy About A Sharp Dressed Man (and Jervis is there too.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day, another step towards their goals. Crane and Tetch have a clothes shopping montage, when things get unsuspectingly intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misgendering tw in this chapter. While it's not purposefully harmful, better to give a warning. Also mental illness is explored more in this chapter.

Daylight came to the rural side of Gotham almost as a picturesque dream. Or at least, it had certainly felt like it to Jervis Tetch, as it had been a long time since sun in his eyes had been what roused him from his slumber– rather than the guards shouting at him awaken. He stretched and yawned, and found himself delightfully surprised as his March Hare was still sound asleep next to him– the two escaped convicts having shared the pile of hay as their bedding. It was with a passing fancy that Jervis wondered if Crane was a morning bird at all, or if he preferred waking up past noon– though something told him that the Master of Fear would naturally be a night owl. It was much harder to scare people in daylight, after all.

Not wanting to disturb his friend, Tetch did his best to leave the loft, climbing down the ladder and into the main area of the barn. Brushing strands of hay from his blond locks, Jervis began to wonder what he should do with himself in the meanwhile. The man’s instinct was yet again to play host, maybe return the kindness his Hare had bestowed upon him in some fashion. For the second time in days Jervis found himself lamenting his lack of bread and butter– as he was sure his Scarecrow of a companion would enjoy waking up to a meal. But alas, besides the remaining cans of sardines he had procured from the Safe House, he didn’t have anything to make the meal he deserved. And truly, luxury was what Professor Crane deserved, as far as he was concerned!

There were other ways to play host, however, as it dawned on the Mad Hatter that a barn a home did not make. Spying a broom in the corner, Jervis hummed softly to himself as he rolled up his sleeves, as he made it his mission to pass the time by tidying up.

It had been hours later, nearly noon if his pocket watch had been correct, when Crane began stirring in the loft with an audible groan.

_ “‘Why, what a long sleep you’ve had!’” _ Jervis quoted happily up towards the loft, head jerking out from the corner he had been dusting with his handkerchief. He gave the fabric another shake, before making his way towards the coffee table where he had left the cans of sardines. The blond man smirked as he looked over his friend taking in his late spring cleaning, as he offered Crane one of the cans. 

“Care for a bite, Jonathan? It isn’t much, but I’m sure we’ll need our energy for our plans today.”

While it was true Jonathan made a habit of sleeping until noon when he was able, it was still mildly disorienting to awake for the  **first** time at noon. His nights were almost always fraught with fitful sleep, and barely remembered nightmares. He’d grown accustomed to awaking once every three hours at least, gradually watching as the world grew brighter and brighter outside his window, until finally the sun shone so brightly it simply refused to let him slumber any longer.

But to fall asleep at dusk, and awake next with the sun already insisting it was time to wake? Very unusual. He must have been tired, he told himself, and refused to think any further on the subject. Besides, there were other things to worry about now. Like how his barn was somehow a percent less  **_him_ ** than it had been the night before.

“Well,  **you’ve** been busy. Can you at least promise to hold back on the  _ throw pillows  _ and  _ doilies _ ?” were the first words out of his mouth, as he took the offered breakfast. But it was followed by a muttered “Thank you.”

Jonathan made a face as he slowly nibbled on the fish. It wasn’t great. But it was food. He was thankful Jervis thought to bring some along, but thought it odd to mention it. So he didn’t. He’d gotten half way through the can before he couldn’t ignore the feeling of eyes burning into him any longer, and sighed in defeat.

“Yes, fine, take it.” He held the can up, and Nevar took flight from the rafters, swooping to take the entire can and landed with it in the loft. He was glad, in a way; he wasn’t sure he could have stomached much more of it, anyway.

“Perhaps after tonight, the two of us will be able to afford a  **proper** meal for a change.” It was uncertain whether he meant he and Jervis, or he and the bird.

“Now,  _ Jonathan _ ,” Jervis teased, “ every home should have at least a  _ little _ decorum to it.” The man paused to take a bite of his own food, thinking the matter over as he looked around at his handy work. “Though, I suppose it was a trifle rude of me to carry on the way I did. I assure you I meant nothing of it.”

Jervis was more than happy by the change of subject, as he took the professor’s words as being addressed to him.

“I wouldn’t be opposed of the idea. One wouldn’t wish to survive only on fish, no matter how conveniently they are packaged.” Jervis threw a smile up towards the loft where he knew the crow to be eating his stolen meal. “I imagine Nevar disagree. Yet we can’t be making our arrangements based on the whims of a bird,  _ no matter what a darling of a beast they may be. _ ”

It was with a few more bites that Tetch had finished his brunch, as he clapped his hands in satisfaction.

“Now, I recall you promised me a view of the countryside…”

“Mm-hm, right. It’s um.” Jonathan returned to his work desk and began shuffling things around, looking for the truck keys. It was fortunate the illegally procured vehicle had them at all, but he had a habit of losing track of them from time to time. It didn’t help that–

“Ah! Of course.” Jonathan perked up as he remembered, dashing off to the other side of the barn, and picking up an old, rusted tin can. Under it lay the key, which he snatched up and held up, triumphantly.

“Here we are! It pays to hide them, when you live with a  _ thief _ of all things  _ shiny _ .” Said thief was busy downing the rest of the fish.

“Ready, then? Unless you’d prefer to walk.” He waved a lazy hand for Jervis to follow as he made his way to the front door and slid it open just far enough for the two of them to slip through.

“I think I’ve done enough walking to last a long while.” Jervis mused aloud, following his companion to his car.

The ride itself wasn’t that long of a journey, but Tetch couldn’t help but smile fondly at the countryside. In some ways it reminded him of the hills and farmlands of Cheshire– a place the brit had spent many summers visiting his grandparents. The Hatter couldn’t help but compare the vibrant fall colors to the man driving the vehicle– the thrill and anticipation of change on the horizon. Scary in its own ways, yes, but one couldn’t deny the charm of being swept up in it. 

Neither of the men talked during the drive, and Jervis didn’t have the heart to break the calming air he felt. In that moment, in the truck that had a habit of hitting every pothole on the road, Jervis could almost convince himself he was truly a free man.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end eventually. And so did the calm as the two began pulling up to what looked like a barn that had been converted into a store of sorts. Clothes were swinging slightly on racks by the entrance, breeze being just enough to disturb them.

Jervis took a deep breath, doing his best to squash his fear of being recognized, as he instead chose to outwardly show excitement for the trip.

_ “’Will you, won’t you?’” _ The Hatter asked merrily, stepping out of the truck, as he waited patiently for his friend to exit as well. “However did you find such a charming little store, Jonathan?”

Jonathan climbed out of the truck and slammed the door, seemingly less concerned with being recognized. He gave Jervis a look as if the question he’d asked was absurd.

“It’s the only place to buy sewing supplies for  _ miles _ .” He gestured widely with an outstretched hand at the scenery that surrounded them. “It’s the only place to buy **anything** for miles.” He would have had to be completely blind to have missed the only store around. Ah, the country, and its sprawling nothingness. He hadn’t missed it.

As soon as they entered, the frail voice of an old woman behind the counter greeted them.

“Ohhh, Johnny! Is that you? I haven’t seen you in  _ so long! _ ”

Jonathan nodded in her general direction, sparing a polite smile at the excited old woman. “Hello, Margaret. My apologies, I’ve been, preoccupied.”

“Oh, _ so I see! _ ” The woman all but disappeared behind the counter when she carefully stepped off the step stool she’d been standing on, and shuffled around the counter over to them. She stood maybe four feet tall. “She’s a  **_tall_ ** one! … And a **blonde** , too!” Margaret giggled playfully as she adjusted her glasses and squinted up at Jervis.

“Mm-hm.” Jonathan replied, smirking, too amused to bother correcting her as he busied himself with a nearby rack of shirts.

Jervis was SURPRISED by his friend’s openness in general, and had become even more astonished as he watched the exchange between Jonathan and the store owner. He blinked wildly, only just barely taking in the misunderstanding as he vaguely wondered if it was  _ HIS _ hair that needed cutting. The Hatter instead chose to ignore it all together as he instead stopped to give the place a look over. The quality of the clothes were of varying degrees, but already he could spot some vintage items that felt right up his alley. Jervis smiled widely down at the old woman who ran the place.

“You have a lovely establishment, madam. I’m sure between the two of us, we should be more than able to find a flattering ensemble for Jonathan.”

The old woman gasped, and turned an excited gaze toward Jonathan, her eyes wide and sparkling behind the magnification of her glasses, instantly melting the glare he’d thrown in Jervis’ direction.

“You see, Johnny?  **This** is why every man needs a good woman in his life. Did you think I didn’t know you were single? Wearing the same thing every time you visited?” She chuckled in good humor and shook her head at Jonathan’s perceived foolishness.

“Don’t you worry! We won’t let him leave until he’s as sharply dressed as you!” She smiled and winked up at Jervis, and scuttled off further into the place. “I think these back here might fit him best. He’s such a  **_thin_ ** young man.”

Jonathan slid a hand down his face and groaned. This day just kept on getting better.

Tetch was delighted to find himself with a new partner in crime, as he followed Margaret deeper into the store. Oh, there was something simply frabjuous about the idea of dressing his friend– as if he was like a porcelain doll. Jervis kept this to himself, however, as he had a sneaky suspicion that Crane would only scowl more at the thought.

Jervis decided that Margaret was perfect in every way, as she held up a red long sleeved shirt to the pair.

“Flannel!” Jervis cried out ecstatically. “My dear, you read my mind! May I?” He retrieved the item from the owner as he held it up to his friend’s torso. “Jonathan, what do you think? Do you know what size you wear?”

“ _ Flannel? _ ” There was nothing terror inducing about flannel! … But he supposed that was the point. Jonathan the Terror had to become Average Joe. And it  **was** in his color. … But maybe that was a problem, too. If he were to become someone else, he might as well wear someone else’s  _ color _ , as well.

“Flannel is  _ fine _ , but do you have this in  _ another _ color, perhaps?”

Margaret peeked around Jervis with a disappointed frown. “But  **red** is  _ your color _ !” she pleaded.

“Yes, I know. But I’m hoping to leave here  _ a whole new man _ .” He glanced at Jervis, hoping he’d gotten his point across. While also avoiding the size question. This was a second hand shop, clothing had one size. Answering would have done nothing but humiliate him.

“Oh!  _ A man who isn’t afraid to experiment. _ ” She giggled again, playfully elbowing Jervis in the leg. “What do you think, green? Perhaps a blue?”

Jonathan was about to respond when he realized that question had been directed at Jervis. Women tended to flock together. This thought helped ease his frazzled nerves and his quickly shortening fuse. He stood there, arms crossed, fighting the urge to impatiently tap his foot while the ladies discussed how best to dress him.

Hatter had known what his Hare meant, and while it was such a shame to give up such an item, he knew the professor was correct.

His frown he had been sporting disappeared as he glanced back at the woman by his legs.

“When in doubt,” Jervis began, as his eyes caught just the number. Picking up another flannel shirt from the rack, he held it against Crane once more as he finished his thought. “ _ Why not both? _ ”

The blue with the lighter green pattern was just the thing to contrast Jonathan’s lovely auburn hair. He could already picture it now: this blouse, with a grey pant leg, topped with a baseball cap.  Not a soul would recognize him.

“Margaret, love,” Jervis started, already losing his sense of formalities as he felt he had  bonded with the woman on a spiritual level, “You wouldn’t happen to have any grey denim trousers, tall length cut, perhaps?”

“ **Oohhhh!** ” Margaret squealed like an excited school girl, one hand reaching up to rest on her cheek. “You’re  **_right!_ ** You’re so good! You wait right here, sweetie, I have just the thing.”

Margaret shuffled off, not moving nearly as fast as she likely meant to. As soon as she was out of earshot, Jonathan shook his head and sighed, biting back a grin.

“There she goes again, stealing yet another one of my girlfriends.  _ I really need to stop bringing them here. _ ”

Jonathan couldn’t remember ever feeling this playful. He supposed it was likely because it had been a good many years since he’d done anything as mundane, as normal, as _ clothes shopping _ . It had been a long time since he’d felt like a  _ person _ rather than a  _ criminal _ .

Margaret returned moments later, the trousers on hand. Two pair, in fact, one a steel grey and the other a much darker shade.

“One of these should do. Come on! Let’s go! To the dressing room with you! Let us  **see** !” She shoved the pants into his hands and began pushing him toward the back of the store, where a pair of swinging doors sat, an old sign that read ‘Changing Rooms’ was taped above them. Despite the fact Jervis was still holding the shirt. “While you do that, maybe I’ll see if we can find a nice dress for your lady friend, hmm?”

Jervis sighed, still clutching the shirt, as he followed the man to the back changing rooms.

“ _ ’Girlfriends’ _ , Jonathan? Are you to tell me you’ve brought other dates here as well?” Hatter was teasing back, huffing as he handed the taller man the shirt he needed to try on.  “ _ Now enough with you before I box your ears _ , and  **_do_ ** let me know if you require a different size. I must stop the poor thing before she starts on procuring a girdle from who knows where.”

And it was with that he turned on his heel, off to search for the store owner. A difficult feat when all the racks towered over her small stature.

“ **Madam!** ” Tetch called, “ Please, you needn’t go through all the trouble. I haven’t got the figure, and would much prefer a  **trouser** suit!”

Jonathan was  _ laughing _ . He quickly put a stop to this with a few forced coughs into a fist, but the slight smirk refused to go away as he began to change. He kept an ear out, hoping to hear their conversation out there. If anyone could convince a man to wear a dress, it would be Margaret.

Margaret leaned out from behind a clothes rack, the look on her face one of hurt pity. Three dresses hung over her arm already. She shuffled over to Jervis, and looked up at him, still looking very concerned.

“Is that really how  **_you_ ** feel, dearie? It wasn’t  **him** who put those thoughts in your head, was it?” She ticked her head in the direction of the changing rooms, her voice lowered. “You can tell me, you know. Don’t let him make you feel unattractive.  _ You’re beautiful and he is lucky to have you. _ ”

Jervis was mortified by how quickly this conversation was spiraling out of control. And it was in this moment that the man found himself blurting out without a second thought: 

**_“Jonathan is a gentleman!”_ **

Jervis’ mortification only worsened as he realized what he had done, even as the older woman stared up at him in shock at his outburst. It was his turn to cough into his hand as he tried to smooth things out.

“ _ Beg your pardon _ , madam. I apologize for my outburst, your question merely threw me around the bend a little, is all. I can assure you,  _ truly _ , that Jonathan has been nothing but kind to me.  _ Even if it’s in his own ways _ .” The man threw a quick smile of fondness towards the direction of the changing room, more of a subconscious act than anything else. It didn’t last long as his gaze fell back onto the gowns in Margaret’s arms.

“As for the dresses… While they certainly look lovely, I’m afraid I have no experiences wearing such things,  _ and I’m sure to feel utterly foolish trying to do so… _ ”

This entire time, Jonathan’s change of clothes had been put on hold, as he was busy biting his fist to hold back gales of laughter. Had this gone too far? Absolutely. Was he going to rectify it?  _ Absolutely  _ **_not._ **

But Jervis’ outburst had startled more than just Margaret. The words that followed that managed to quell his would-be laughing fit. That had been kind of him, sweet, almost. Friendship was a strange thing, Jonathan thought to himself, as he pulled up the new pants. Seemingly pointless, and yet the mind couldn’t function properly without it for extended periods of time. Why, even  **animals** grew restless or listless without company.

While he dressed himself and contemplated the complexities of friendship, Margaret’s surprised expression turned into a knowing smile.

“Mmm-hm! I see.” That was a relief. She **liked** her Johnny boy. She didn’t **want** to have to warn the young ladies at her church gatherings about him. “Well, I suppose it **_is_** the twenty first century, dear. Ladies wear whatever they please, even **_ties!_** _Look at that!_ Hoo! What a time to be alive. Alright then, we’ll see if we can find you some–”

Just then, the changing room doors swung open, and there stood Jonathan, frowning and fidgeting with his collar. The clothes seemed to fit well enough, anyway. He stopped fussing and held out his arms, expression still displeased.

“Well? I certainly  **_feel_ ** like a different person.”

“ _ Ohh! _ What a handsome  _ gentleman! _ ” Margaret squealed, clapping.

The Hatter had been glad when the shop owner had agreed to drop the subject of him wearing gowns, relief turned to excitement as his Hare presented himself. Jervis couldn’t help but clap along with Margaret.

“I must agree, color suits you, you know.” Jervis made his way closer towards his friend, adjusting the top’s collar slightly. “There. Doesn’t it feel nice to wear something besides burlap for a change?”

Inspiration struck the man again as his head jerked towards Margaret’s direction.

“Please tell me you keep caps in stock? And sunglasses as well? Accessories make the ensemble, after all!”

Yet again the man couldn’t help but enjoy being able to dress the professor up. It was such a shame, after their heist,  Jervis more than likely wouldn’t get the opportunity to do so again!

Jonathan grunted as Jervis fussed with his shirt, but he allowed it. The shirt was… comfortable, and he didn’t like that. He was used to scratchy straw, it kept him alert and irritable.

“Red  **is** a  _ color _ , you know.” He mumbled.

“Caps?” Margaret looked at Jervis for awhile, before scratching her head, and turning to look back at the register. “Well now, I think I’ve got a few over in the art supply section, let me just…”

“She means  **hats** , Margaret. Do you have  _ hats _ ?”

“Ohh!  **_Hats!_ ** Yes! I have plenty of those! Ho-ho! Oh, do I feel silly. I was  **wondering** what you two might do with pop caps! Right over here, dearies.” She shuffled away, toward a rack of hats, fancy sun hats and bonnets hanging up, many baseball hats thrown in a bin next to it.

“I’m afraid we don’t have anything quite as fancy as the one  **you’re** wearing, though.  _ Are you a magician? _ ”

Jervis had been following her towards the hat bin, and had begun looking through them when the store owner’s question stopped him.

“Ah, well, fortunately I think a baseball cap should suffice for Jonathan. Just something to keep the sun out of his face while he works…” Hatter kept his thought of ‘ _and to help cover his face in a crowd_ ’ to himself. One mustn’t get too cheeky, after all.  The villain continued his search through the bin as he went on. “As for me, while I do keep a few card tricks up my sleeves, I’m afraid my line of work isn’t nearly as  _ glamorous _ . I’m more of a… freelance inventor.” 

Not completely a lie, in any case.

Jervis completely dropped the subject when he sported a red baseball hat with the logo of a certain Cincinnati team on it.

“Jonathan, do come here and try this on,  _ please _ . Surely a LITTLE red would be appropriate.”

“Oh,  **_an inventor_ ** !” Margaret repeated, excitedly. “ _ A smart woman makes for smart children, hmm? _ ” She elbowed Jonathan with a giggle as he passed on his way to Jervis.

Jonathan quickly swiped the hat and looked at it, abruptly asking, “What does the C stand for?” to change the subject as quickly as possible. What was an amusing joke had just drifted a little too close to unsettling territory.

“Hm? Oh! I don’t know, dear, some kind of sport, I imagine.”

“Ah. Yes. Sports. My favorite.” He put the hat on and adjusted it, looking in the tiny mirror affixed to the wall beside the rack. He looked like your average redneck, alright. He sneered at his reflection and looked away. “It’ll do. Have you ladies decided on what  _ she’ll _ be wearing, then?” he asked, pointing a thumb in Jervis’ direction.   


“Pants! We decided on pants.” Margaret gave a single, confident nod.

Jervis rolled his eyes at Crane’s insistence of continuing to fool the old woman, but made it a point not to address the misunderstanding. Just because the professor wanted to be rude didn’t mean he had to do the same by bringing it up. While the two had been chatting, he instead had found another bin full of sunglasses, and pulled out a yellow pair as he handed them over to Crane.

“Yes, I thought it for the best. I don’t think I’ll have the luxury of changing into  _ nylons _ while we’re out this evening, after all.” Jervis made it a point to stretch the word, as the mental image of himself wearing them made him frown. His smile quickly returned as he spotted a brown leather jacket just a little ways behind the professor.

“Oh! Hello there…” A bomber jacket wasn’t exactly his style, and brown felt so lackluster in comparison to his usual colorful attire. But, he supposed, if the point was to NOT be themselves… 

“Margaret, love, would you be a dear and fetch me a pair of black trousers? XL, or a 38 waist, however you organize your sizes, if you please. I’ll be over there perusing your collared tops.” It pained Tetch a little to think that he might have to go for a more standard white one. It had been so liberating once he broke free of his own hesitance and started wearing more outlandish colors. But, again, Jervis reminded himself, the point was to not be noticed as himself…

Jonathan took the sunglasses, but didn’t bother trying them on. Yes, yes, sure, these were fine, too. He was growing impatient. He eyed the jacket that Jervis picked out… it was nice. They were merely switching colors with each other, it seemed. Interesting. He also hadn’t missed the eye roll. It had resulted in a surprising feeling of… guilt? Perhaps. He felt foolish. He supposed this game  **was** a bit  _ childish _ . He decided to set things straight if given the chance.

Margaret had gladly scurried away to fetch Jervis some pants, and Jervis was away looking at shirts. Jonathan wandered around awkwardly, eventually remembering he’d need to change back into his old clothes before they left, and headed back toward the dressing rooms. On the way he spotted a small wicker bowl filled with broken jewelry, a little white sign taped to the front with the word “FREE” written in blue marker. He picked out a golden pumpkin that gleamed in the store’s dim lights, and stuffed it in his pocket. Maybe if he gave the feathered monster something else, he’d stop swiping his keys.

“Will these do, dear?” Margaret returned to Jervis, and held up a pair of black pants. “Find anything you like?”

Jervis had been busy looking between a few different off-white colored shirts, doing his best not to scowl at them. Eventually he settled on a more frosted white, letting himself imagine that it was just an EXTREMELY light shade of blue– surely not that horrible…

His smile did return as he accepted the trousers from the store owner.

“Thank you, my dear. I do believe I’ve found something appropriate. _Do excuse me_.” The man tipped his hat as he headed towards the changing room. He popped his head out from behind the doors as he addressed Margaret again. “Oh! You wouldn’t happen to have a tweed cap would you? I apologize for having you run about, but it IS rather important.” 

With the knowledge that the Hatter wouldn’t be without a hat of his own, he ducked back inside and focused on changing.

“Oh it’s no trouble at all! I might not look at but I’m as spry as a spring chicken!” Her voice grew fainter and fainter as she shuffled off back toward the hat rack, but she was still talking the entire way. She returned shortly with a hat that was, indeed tweed… or at least a very convincing imitation of it. It was amazing the things you could find in these little stores, Crane mused.

Margaret slipped the hat under the doors. “Here you are.” And returned to stand by Crane, who did his best to ignore her. She was having none of that, though.

“She’s a keeper, you know.  _ Marriage material _ , don’t you think?”

Jonathan sighed loudly, and ended with a groan. He took a moment to compose himself, and finally looked down at her, but when he opened his mouth to reply, she interrupted.

“ **_Don’t!_ ** Don’t go telling me you’re not the marrying type.  _ I’ve _ seen that look in her eye when she looks at you. I know that look well. She l–”

“M'am. Margaret.” He put a hand up to stop her. She did, mercifully. “Jervis is a  **_man_ ** . I didn’t want to  _ embarrass _ you and correct you earlier. But it’s gone far enough, I’m afraid. He is a  _ man _ , we are  _ friends _ .”

Margaret stared at him, and he could actually see the moment his words finally clicked. Her mouth fell open to reveal toothless gums, her eyes growing wide. She glanced over to the dressing room doors, then stood on her tip toes and whispered up to him.

“ _ Is he a  _ **_gay?_ ** ”

The corner of Jonathan’s mouth twitched, and he folded his arms. “You wouldn’t be the first to assume that. But I can  _ assure _ you, the object of his affection is, most definitely, a woman.”

“Ohh…” He flinched slightly when he felt her pat his leg. He glanced down to see she shaking her head slowly, and giving him a sympathetic look. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry, dear.”

Jonathan, once catching the implication behind her reply, scowled at her and recoiled away, as if she’d just thrown sewage waste on him. But he couldn’t stay angry at this woman. He composed himself.

“ _ I’ll live, I’m sure. _ ” His tone dripped with sarcasm and barely contained irritation. It went unnoticed.

While Jervis had been aware of the quiet mutterings from outside the changing room, he couldn’t actually hear what the conversation was about. While he was most certainly very curious, it was for the best he kept to himself. It was rude, after all, to try and pry.

_ “‘If everybody minded their own business,’ the Duchess said in a hoarse growl, ‘the world would go round a deal faster than it does.’ “ _ This of course was muttered under his own breathe, as Hatter finished pulling up his pants and putting on the jacket. The tweed hat was the much needed finishing touch.

Feeling sorted, Jervis stepped outside the changing room, giving himself a once over before seeking out Crane and Margaret’s approval.

“It does look presentable, doesn’t it? It’s always hard to tell when trying things one doesn’t usually wear…” Jervis found his eyes especially locking onto his friend’s face– it would only be at a later date that he would question why his want for Jonathan to find him handsome mattered.

The jacket really  **did** add a bit of masculinity that looked almost out of place on the man.  _ Pretty  _ no longer described him. Funny how a change of wardrobe could completely change a person’s outward appearance. But Jonathan was feeling self conscious after Margaret’s accusation, and it took real willpower not to glance away. Margaret, however, spoke up before he had a chance to.

“My, my! What a handsome gentleman. Won’t your lucky lady be surprised!”

Oh. Oh no. For a short moment, the Master of Fear displayed a look of terror, himself. He quickly righted himself, however, and cleared his throat loudly.

“Yes, you look nice. A whole new man. Shall we pay and get going? Yes I think we shall, Margaret?” He was already making his way back toward the register.

Jervis was also shocked by Margaret’s comment, though for more than it being a rather touchy subject. It was in that moment the Hatter realized, since being in the presence of his Hare the previous night, that not a moment had Alice Pleasance crossed his mind. That for once, somebody mattered outside of her and what had happened between them.

The feelings of confusion were enough to make him stare at the older woman, as well as wonder what the two had been talking about while he was in the changing room.

The far away look on his eyes were hard to miss, as he answered Crane’s want of leaving absentmindedly.

“Yes, absolutely. I’ll… I’ll go change so we’ll be ready to leave then.”

Going into autopilot, Jervis Tetch couldn’t help but think about it some more as guilt washed over him. Oh, oh here he had been, lost in the joy of being with somebody that understood him, that he had… he had really forgotten her, hadn’t he? Jervis couldn’t help but think of the doctors at Arkham, and how they too had assured him that with time he would be able to form healthier relationships. That he would be able to move on and forget about his Alice. _His wonderful, dear beautiful summer child._ His salvation that had been stolen from him by the cruel hands of fate. He had argued then that there was no way he could– that she was always a part of him, as if she was a part of his very SOUL. 

But he had **FORGOTTEN HER**. It may have been a day, but even that seemed like sacrilege. While yes, he had been busy with the upcoming plans– plans that would lead to the elimination of Batman from his life. But! But that was all so he could be reunited with her! It was for HER, it was always for her! For THEM!

But he had **FORGOTTEN**. Jervis had been so lost in Jonathan’s company, that something as impossible as having Alice slip through his mind like water through a sieve had happened. 

_ “‘ ‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,“ said the Queen. ‘[…]  Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six  _ **_impossible things_ ** _ before breakfast.’“ _

It was of course his own mind that would argue the case back at him. It was clearly not impossible, simply because it had happened. And yet… The thought of what it could mean… _ it frightened him _ . It frightened him to think that what had once been an absolute could possibly change. It became an uncertainty of his future. Of his mind and life spiraling out of his control. 

So Jervis Tetch did what he always did when his fear became to much: he stepped out of reality by completely suppressing the feelings altogether. And it was with the brightest of grins he stepped out from the changing room, clothes in hand, as he made his way up to the counter as if nothing had happened. 

It was much easier to deal with than the thought that his reality may have shifted.

“ _ Ah, now here we go! _ Why Margaret, thank you so much for all of your assistance. You were an absolute delight,  _ truly _ .”

“Oh, my!” Margaret giggled as the rang up their purchases. “The pleasure was all mine, deary! You visit again, now, you hear?  _ Johnny? _ You’ll bring him again, won’t you? – Oh, that’ll be twenty-four-thirty-four.”

“Hm, oh, right, yes.”

Jervis’ cheery attitude may have fooled Margaret, but Crane was  _ horrified _ . That look in Jervis’ eyes meant bad things.  _ Terrible _ things. And, what was worse, he had to share an entire  _ car ride _ with a man with murder in his eyes. Lovely. They left the store with their bags, and Jonathan stiffly got behind the wheel of his truck and started the engine, without saying a word, or averting his gaze in the slightest. Just looking straight ahead.

The ride back to the barn was as quiet as the ride to the store, but much more tense. Crane gripped the steering wheel so tightly it turned his knuckles white. And he was  _ perspiring _ . He was  _ afraid _ . Afraid of the man sitting beside him, fearful he might decide to attack while he was distracted and vulnerable.

He was also feeling something else that had him thankful he’d put the bag on his lap for this ride. He chalked that up to the adrenaline brought on by his fear, nothing more.

There was nothing Jonathan Crane hated more than being afraid. He was the  **Master** of fear. He  **ruled over** fear, he  _ caused it in others _ . What kind of psychologist was he, if he was unable to conquer even his own fears and anxieties?  _ And furthermore! _ Why should he be fearful of  _ Jervis Tetch _ ? A madman for sure, yes, but an unarmed, tea-sipping madman. Why, if he so wished, Jonathan could have Jervis on his knees in seconds, cowering in fear!

Yes! It was working. His fear was transforming into anger. He could  **_use_ ** anger. He’d need it to snap Jervis out of this…  _ episode _ he was having before their plans that night. His other problem had only gotten worse, but he had the rest of their ride to think of less than pleasant things to aid with that.

Nothing was wrong– why would it be? Life was Jervis’ Wonderland, after all! Things had soured in the past, sure, but he was the Mad Hatter! A being outside of Time’s domain– where even Jabberwocks were fictional creatures within his fictional world. Nothing could touch him, as he sat next to his March Hare– Alice wasn’t there, but that was merely because she WOULD be LATER. It was what his hard work had been for, had it not? His past sufferings had to mean for something– stories have a purpose, after all. Even the most nonsensical of phrases had a PURPOSE.

And every good fish knew he wouldn’t traverse the sea without a porpoise.

Jervis merrily hummed ‘I Love My Love’ to himself, only just being aware of the colors outside of the vehicle as they passed their way through Gotham’s countryside. He couldn’t help but think of straw– like the straw roof of a certain hare’s home.

**_‘I love my love with an H because he is happy. I hate him with an H because he is hideous.  I fed him with ham sandwiches and hay. His name is Haigha and he lives-’_ **

No, that was silly. Alice didn’t start with an H. Once more, from the top!

Those thoughts, however, would have top be put on hold as Crane had finally pulled up to the barn. Love would have to be put on hold, Haigha and Hatta needed to focus on their porpoise. He hoped his friend could swim…

Jervis gingerly climbed out of the car, still grinning a grin that would make a Cheshire Cat envious, as he made his way towards the barn.

“ _ ‘Come, we shall have some fun now!’ _ “ The man couldn’t help but say aloud, as he held the door open for the other man. 

The truck door slammed shut in Jonathan’s aggravation. He was in quite the mood now. Between blaming Jervis for  **_daring_ ** to snap at such a crucial moment,  **hours** before their heist, and remembering his  _ dear grandmother _ to get rid of his other problem, he was in  **quite** the mood,  _ indeed _ .

“ **Oh!** The time for  **_fun_ ** is far  **_over_ ** , I  **_assure_ ** you! You and–  _ thank you _ – you and I need to have a little  **chat** ,  _ Mr. Tetch. _ ”

Crane entered the barn, and stomped across floor, whipping their bags of clothes into the corner with a huff. Then he turned to his work desk, where he did all of his best thinking, and slumped over it, hands splayed out over its surface. He had to compose himself, just a little.  _ Too much _ anger might only serve to push Tetch  _ further _ into Wonderland.

Jervis nodded, as his friend walked inside, following close behind.

“ _ ‘The time has come,’ the Walrus said, ‘to talk of many things _ ’,” Hatter quoted instantly, as the most natural response. “ _ ’Of shoes– and ships– and ceiling wax– of cabbages– and **kings** – and why the sea is boiling hot– and whether pigs have wings! _ ’”

Jervis had been very much in the moment, as he let the words spill forth. It was only after the lack of response did it dawn on the Hatter just how agitated his Hare was.

“Oh my! You seem tense! Maybe I should put the kettle on– tea is what you chiefly need!”

Jervis’ prattling was making it impossible for Jonathan to get his temper under control. He went on and on about complete and utter nonsense! Jonathan’s eyes had been clenched shut as he did his best to concentrate, but it was Jervis’ offer of tea that finally broke the dam, his eyes shooting open.

“ _ Tea? _ ” Jonathan spun around to face the mad man. His eye was twitching a little as he stomped his way over to him. “ **_Tea will NOT solve all of your problems!_ ** ” he outright shouted, shoving Jervis with a force only possible through the power of fury, causing the man to fall into the chair behind him.

Jonathan had surprised himself. The fact he’d been able to topple a man who was both stronger and heavier than he was told him this level of anger must have been brought on by more than just Jervis’ terribly timed trip to Wonderland. That was something to contemplate later, but for now, he was on a roll.

“Three. Months.” He began, still wrestling with his out of control feelings, using the fact he now towered over Jervis to his advantage. “ **_Three months in planning!_ ** And you choose  **_now_ ** to take a vacation to  _ La-La Land _ ? **_Hours_ ** before the heist?”

Jonathan paused to bring his hands down on the arms of Jervis’ chair abruptly, and leaning in until they were face to face. He stared into those mad eyes that were so far away. They provoked a creeping sense of sadness within Jonathan, and, maddeningly, he couldn’t place why.

“If you’re a happier man spending your days sipping  **tea** in  _ Wonderland _ with  **_Alice_ ** ,  **_then so be it!_ ** But do it on your  **own** time, Tetch! Right now, I!” He snapped his fingers loudly, inches from Jervis’ face. “ **_NEED!_ ** ” snap! “ **_YOU!_ ** ” snap! “ **_HERE!_ ** ” Snap!

Pushing a man of the Hatter’s size was indeed not an easy feat, as the man  _ ‘oofed’ _ as he crumbled slightly in the chair. Jervis stared wide eyed up at the March Hare that toward over him, the creature snarling and showing his teeth. While Jervis had passingly thought the complaint  _ ‘you pushed me’ _ , the words did not leave his lips– Haigha was yelling. Haigha was  _ attacking _ .

Hatter wouldn’t call himself an expert on lagomorphs, but he was aware of the fact that they were prey animals. Creatures designed with a finely tuned, easily agitated flight or fight response. It dawned on the Hatter how strange it was for a hat maker to have an interest in science, before that thought was pushed aside by the more  imperative realization that March was attacking  _ him _ because  _ he _ was scared. Hatter had wound him up to make his Hare  _ afraid _ .

A realization that was enough to shatter through the veil of Wonderland, like the twinkling of tea cups smashing onto a wooden floor. 

Jervis blinked, following the snaps as the delusions of his fantasy crumbled away piece by piece. Panic struck him as the final snap came too close to his face, causing the stronger man to whip up his hand and grab the frail wrist of his friend. His very human friend. Jervis blinked again, finally taking in where he was, and the position he was in as the taller man completely took over his vision.

And it was with a shaky breath that Jervis let go of the wrist in his grip, his body trembling as he did so. It took a few more breathes closing his eyes tightly once more, before he could speak: only one word daring to leave his lips.

_ “..Jonathan?” _

All of that explosive anger immediately fizzled out in an instant, doused by shock, and the return of that accursed fear, when his wrist was suddenly grabbed. He’d all at once been reminded why Jervis Tetch was a threat, and the creature hanging on the wall was berating him for not arming himself for the encounter.

The moment he was released, Jonathan pulled away as if he were expecting being bitten, and distanced himself a ways. But relief washed over him when he heard Jervis speak his name.

“Oh. You’re back. That’s good.” Jonathan replied, rubbing his wrist. Not that Jervis had  _ harmed _ him, it had merely  _ surprised _ him. He carefully sat down in the chair across from Jervis, leaning forward, studying him as if looking for something, taking in his trembling visage. “… You  **_are_ ** back, aren’t you?”

Now that his emotions had quieted again, he had time to be fascinated. Yes, Alice  **was** a sore subject for the Hatter, but  _ simply mentioning her _ had never caused quite this reaction in him before. What had been the catalyst this time? The setting? The teasing? No, no. Neither of those made any sense at all.

Reality was always harder to deal with after his episodes. Being reminded that he was Jervis Tetch, _somebody of not extraordinary worth_ , was always a bitter pill to swallow after downing spoonful upon spoonful of sugar coated fantasies. The shaking eventually ceased, as instead Jervis had to deal with the humiliation of the fact his partner had seen him that way. He sighed, burying his face into his hand just so he couldn’t see the look of disdain that the other man surely must have had.

“Yes, yes I’m back. I… I’m terribly sorry.” Jervis took his hand away as he dared to peek at the man across from him, showing his remorse over the situation. “I… I usually have a better handle of things. I must be more wound over tonight than I realized.” While true, it was an easier excuse to latch onto than letting himself dwell on more concerning matters.

Yes, yes, Jonathan supposed that made  **some** sort of sense. He could see how the mention of a sore subject might be the last straw in snapping an already tightly wound set of nerves. And feeling nervous about the heist made a sort of sense, too; Jervis was still new to this. There was still a part of him that was a frightened, confused man, who has no idea how he got himself into all of this. A man who’d made some poor decisions, a man not yet a villain. A man who already wants out before the ride had even truly begun.

Oh, but it was far too late now. He was strapped in tightly. Pull the lever. Let the screaming begin.

Jonathan suddenly realized he’d been lost in thought, and staring at Jervis awkwardly in silence while he contemplated the man’s mental state. How embarrassing. He cleared his throat, and leaned back in his seat.

“Yes, completely understandable. I suppose… if you aren’t  _ ready _ , we can  _ postpone _ it a night or two. Frazzled nerves won’t do either of us any good.”

And, Crane admitted to himself, he wouldn’t mind at all a few more days to study Jervis’ fascinating psyche. It suddenly seemed almost even more alluring than trying out his new Fear Toxin.

Jervis didn’t answer right away as he thought the matter over. There was absolutely no reason why they shouldn’t carry on with their plan. Tetch needed the money and technology, and Crane wanted the test subjects. And there was Alice. _Poor lost Alice_ , who needed him to put the finishing pieces on his plan before he could rescue her from that boorish lizard she had grown attached to. The guilt from earlier still festered and swirled inside him, becoming a voice that told him that action must be taken before he found himself lost playing his games with his Hare again.

It was just as Jervis was about to voice this that he was interrupted by an insistent rapping from the window.  Before Jervis could yet again voice his thought of inquiring what the noise had meant, that his moment was stolen from him as the professor suddenly removed himself from his seat as he went to let Nevar inside the barn. It was with his companion’s back to him that that Jervis found his words tumbling from him like books off an off-kilter shelf.

“We should do it. I,  _ that is to say _ , we… we should continue as planned. I don’t think I could stand waiting about for another day. My nerves wouldn’t stand it, and I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy my fidgeting anyhow.”

It was while talking that Crane had turned back to look at him, causing Jervis to look away so as to avoid his friend’s striking gaze. He continued, still feeling embarrassed by what had happened. 

“ I’d hate to impose on your kindness just because of something as silly as restlessness. I’m sure you’ll be desiring your solitude to write notes after your field tests, after all.”

The first emotion Jervis’ response elicited was disappointment. The second and third were excitement and admiration.

“Ah! Facing your fears head on,  **_very_ ** admirable!”

Nevar sat on the windowsill like an indecisive cat, craning its neck to look around Jonathan, curiously.

“Yes, Jervis is still here.” Jonathan assured the bird, flatly. Nevar hopped sideways twice and took off to land on the back of Jervis’ chair and peer down at him. Jonathan found he was feeling warm amusement at the bird’s preference for Jervis, while only earlier he’d felt jealousy.

“Very well, I shall continue to prepare our things, then.” He returned to the corner to retrieve their bags of clothes, and began loading them into a duffel bag. While he busied himself with this, he allowed his mind to wander, ever so slightly. It dawned on him that, being new to the whole, villain thing, Jervis might not actually  **have** a place of his own yet. Where did he plan on  _ going _ after the heist?

“You know…” he began, zipping up the bag and setting it near the door.“It’s a big barn. If you’ve enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in straw, you’re welcome to stay for awhile. After, the heist, I mean. … I think the bird might appreciate the company.”

And Crane would appreciate having more time to study him, of course. Yes. Science over companionship, but that didn’t mean the two couldn’t occasionally overlap.

Yes…. admirable. For a reason Jervis couldn’t name, it didn’t exactly _feel_ admirable. STILL, praise from a man that didn’t give it often was still welcomed, and Jervis found himself bashful from it. The Hatter yet again allowed his eyes to stray, as he took the opportunity to turn towards the bird and scratch under its beak.

His hand had paused mid-scratch, causing Nevar to caw in complaint, as the man took in his companion’s admission. Crane had wanted him there. After what had just happened, he didn’t want him scuttling off the moment his usefulness was over. While Jervis was, of course, aware that this was a key component in friendship… WELL, it still did the heart good to hear that one was actually wanted around.

“WELL, _if Nevar wants me to…_ ” Jervis smiled fondly as he continued to pet the bird, who by this point had made a nest out of his lap. “I would be delighted to stay. It would certainly give me ample time to build the main components of my machine in peace– as I search for the perfect place for the Snark’s resting place.”

He just hoped the snark he was seeking wasn’t actually a boojum in the end…

Nerves settled, and in a much better mood, Jervis waited for Nevar to get tired of his affections, before he too got up and began to pack the things they would need come night. As he made his way closer towards the desk, where he had left his cards so as not to expose who he was in public, he gently placed a hand on his Hare’s back as he passed.

“Thank you, Jonathan. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art provided by the ever lovely @micaxiii, where you can find them on tumblr: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com/


	5. Yacht What You're Expecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escorted by Harley Quinn, Joker and Penguin decide to crash Bruce Wayne's party boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence, blood, and lewd humor tw. But this involves the Joker, so you had to expect SOMETHING.

Penguin hummed to himself while he adjusted his bowtie in the mirror. Tonight was the night! There was a whole boatload of cash just waiting for him–  _ literally _ . As usual, he hadn’t been invited to Mr. Wayne’s party, but there were no hard feelings. The life of the party tended to invite himself.   
  
“ **_And…_ ** ” He turned his attention upward, where two large vultures sat on specially made perches. They stopped preening to listen. “A boatload of  _ fresh meat _ for  **you** two!”   
  
Luckily, his birds didn’t question the fact the first part of his musings had been only in his mind. Instead they shook and fluffed out their feathers to show their enthusiasm.   
  
He turned and contemplated his reflection. “I don’t know, what do you guys think?” He turned around and spread his arms so the birds could get a good look. “Too much?” The vultures looked at each other, and then back down at Penguin. He frowned.   
  
“Yeah, I thought so, too.” He ripped off the red bowtie, tossing it to the side, and replaced it with his usual black one. He smiled into the mirror, satisfied. “Now that’s more like it.” Why mess with perfection?   
  
“I think this might actually be the time the villains get to win!” He announced, making his way toward the foyer, the birds taking flight to follow. “Or, more importantly, this villain. Let Joker deal with the bat while I get away with the cash. A fool proof plan! Just need to lay low until we get there, and–”   
  
The sound of squealing tires and a blaring La Cucaracha horn caused all of Penguin’s hopes and dreams to solidify into a lump of steal that instantly plummeted into the pit of his stomach. He sprinted the rest of the way to his front doors, which were just propped up haphazardly from where they’d been broken before. He shoved one aside and gaped at the giant limo that sat at the end of the drive. Harley Quinn was grinning and waving enthusiastically from the driver seat.   
  
“So much so laying low…” Penguin wilted.   
  
Harley Quinn bounced happily in her seat as she continued to wave over at Penguin by the broken entrance of the mansion. She might have been the third wheel of this spontaneous team up, but if that was going to be true, well gee, she was going to be the cutest most stable wheel she could be!   
  
Harley couldn’t help but comment to her puddin’ waiting in the back seat, as Joker continued to smile at Penguin’s gawking.   
  
“I think I’m startin’ t’see what you see in Ozzy bird, Mistah J. He’s pretty cute when he don’t know what’s comin’!”   
  
Joker couldn’t help but laugh at the sentiment.   
  
“ **_Isn’t he though?_ ** ” There was a lilt there that was just barely holding back the barrage of laughter. “ You’d think by now he’d be able to tell when the joke’s coming. But NOPE! Playing the part like a true straight man, if I ever saw one.  _ Does this clown’s heart some good. _ ” By this point Penguin had started to walk down the drive, and this just perked up the costumed villain even more. “Ah-ha! Show time, Harl! Let’s give the bird the ol’ razzle dazzle he  **_thinks_ ** he deserves!”   
  
Harley didn’t need to be told twice as she hopped out of the driver’s seat, quickly making her way to the other side of the vehicle where she was sure to greet Penguin. Harley saluted, the driver’s cap resting on top of her jester hat looking all the more ridiculous because of it.   
  
“Hiyah, Mistah Cobblepot! Harley Quinn reportin’ and ready t’escort!” Before Penguin could reply, the jester began opening the car door, outdoing herself with her well performed exaggerated bow. “Your ride, sir.”   
  
Pride was beginning to override his suspicion. Oswald knew he was being mocked, but he also deserved to ride around in style. Maybe he could convince himself that Joker just appreciated his heritage and respected the Cobblepot name…   
  
Ha ha. Right.   
  
“Much appreciated.” Penguin gave Harley a toothy grin and lascivious look-over, tipping his hat before climbing into the limo. Why couldn’t she have been the crazy clown keen on locking lips with him? She could have all the smooches for free.   
  
His grin evaporated the moment he was inside the limo, and he turned to Joker with a frown.   
  
“Where’d you get a ride like this?” He wasn’t only talking about the limo.   
  
Joker, who had nonchalantly been pretending to check his nails as Harley had been taking care of their guest, threw the other villain a bored look as he finished climbing inside.   
  
“Hmm? Oh,  _ this ol’ thing _ ?” He twirled his wrist around as he indicated the space in the limo. “ **_You’d be surprised by the things people like to throw away._ ** ”   
  
His smile was wide, as he watched Harley get back into the car. Harley meanwhile was unaware as she started the ignition.   
  
“Alright, boys,  **_buckle up_ ** . I never  **_did_ ** get my licence t’drive these things!”   
  
What Penguin had took as a joke quickly became a genuine concern as the car lurched forward with a large jolt before braking. She giggled sheepishly.   
  
“Eh he,  _ whoopsies _ ?”   
  
“ _ Ain’t she just a  _ **_peach_ ** ?” Joker said with fondness as he couldn’t help but watch the other villain readjust his hat before throwing his next comment to the woman driving. “ **_Watch it_ ** , Harl! You’ll make the bird lose all his feathers with scares like that!  **_It’s too soon_ ** !”   
  
“Won’t happen again, boss!”   
  
Joker sighed dramatically as Harley drove off, shaking his head as he wrapped an arm around the back of Penguin’s seat.   
  
“ _ Good help can be so hard to find _ .” His words came out in a raspy tone, his way of playing the part straight. Joker carried on. “But she’s cute as a button, with half as many screws– so I think I’ll keep her!  _ If only I could get her to stop piddling on the rug… _ ”   
  
As the vehicle sloppily made its way down the road, two large vultures took off after it, circling overhead as if awaiting their next unfortunate meal. A seemingly deadly omen for anyone other than the Penguin.   
  
The hand that wasn’t holding his umbrella gripped the seat… just in case. Oswald actually laughed at the mad man’s joke, feeling slight kinship with him for a change.   
  
“A woman like that, she could piddle anywhere she wanted.” He muttered to the man sharing his personal space, far too distracted by impending doom at the hands of this crazy canary to realize saying that to her boyfriend was likely not the smartest idea.   
  
Quinn might not be Penguin’s type, personality-wise, but that’s what ball gags were for.   
  
“Now that sort of content certainly wasn’t in your  _ special magazines _ , Penguin.” Joker couldn’t help but find amusement in this, as he began to wonder what other humiliating things the guy might be into. But that was a joke for another day! “Besides, don’t you know it’s  **_rude_ ** to try and steal a man’s  **_pet_ ** ? Your  **_birds_ ** will start thinkin’ they aren’t daddy’s favorite anymore.”   
  
Ah, nothing like a good ol’ ‘screwing the bird’ joke to distract a guy from the hood ornament. Didn’t Pengy know a nice ride was about showing off the man that owned it? Tssk tssk. Joker would have to remind him who Cobblepot’s date actually was.   
  
The Clown Prince of Crime leaned into the other villain, his arm completely wrapped around him at this point, as he playfully whispered into his ear.   
  
“ _ But I’m sure I could arrange a lil’ _ **_pitre à trois_ ** _ if you were interested… _ ”    
  
The assumption that Joker and Harley simply had some kind of weird, master and pet kink situation going on was thrown into doubt when he mentioned his birds.   
  
“My what? What’s that supposed to mean! I do NOT--”   
  
He trailed off at Joker’s offer, his angry scowl going slack in surprise and intrigue.   
  
“… Yeah? You think she’d go for that?” And then it finally sank in, and the angry expression returned. “Wait- NO! Stop that!” Oswald placed a hand on Joker’s face and roughly shoved him away, suddenly very uncomfortable having the guy’s arm around him like that. He was fully aware that Joker kept flirting with him because it bothered him so much, but playing chicken with someone as nutzo as the Joker was a fool’s game.   
  
The closer they got to their destination, the more cars and pedestrians and pole lights Harley narrowly avoided, the more he hoped she didn’t end up driving them straight into the harbor. These weren’t the kind of memories you wanted to be your last.   
  
Joker couldn’t help but laugh wildly, as he pulled himself away from the smaller man. All the yelling was enough to get Harley to take her eyes off the road as she threw her arm over her seat to address her boss. She didn’t like being kept out of the jokes!   
  
“Whatcha boys whisperin’ bout back there?”   
  
“Just boys being boys, Harl. Don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head about it.” His grin only seemed to becoming wider as he added: “And you  **_might_ ** want to keep your eyes on the  **_road_ ** if you’re not in the mood to go **_splat_ ** .”   
  
“Huh?” Harley turned around, giving a gasp of surprise as she noticed she was about to drive into a building. Quickly grabbing the steering wheel, she swerved violently to the left, causing Penguin to crash back into Joker. Harley laughed again pathetically. “Won’t happen again!  **_Probably_ ** !”   
  
Joker instead thought nothing of it as he instead smiled down at the man in his lap.   
  
“We  **REALLY** need to stop meeting like this, Pengy.  _ People will start to  _ **_talk_ ** !”   
  
Joker’s words were barely registered and then immediately discarded. Even more than the fact he was laying in the lap of another man, Penguin was very aware of the fact he’d almost died. They’d almost just smashed into a brick wall. And who was that screaming!? … Oh. It was him.   
  
“She’s crazy!” He squawked, sitting up and in Joker’s lap and clutching the lapels of the man’s suit for dear life. “She’s gonna get us all killed! I want out, I want out! I’ll walk!”   
  
Not very dignified, but he refused to go out this way. There were so many places unseen, so many bird-related things unstolen! All thoughts of both the heist and of how sexy their murderous driver was had completely left his mind, now only thoughts of things he never got to do clogging his headspace.   
  
Ooooh, it was moments like this that Joker wished he had a camera. The smaller man was a sight to behold, as he gripped his coat in utter terror. It… was… HILARIOUS!   
  
Doing his best not to be in the thralls of his laughter, it took all of the Joker’s willpower to keep a straight face as he pulled Penguin off of him.   
  
“But Pengy,” he began, sprawling his hands out to the horizon, as he motioned to the man to look around, “ _ we’re already here. _ ”   
  
It was true, as in that moment Harley Quinn was just pulling up to the parking lot of the shipyard– where many people were busy walking their way up towards the nearest yacht. The ship was large, looking like one that must have rivaled the very likes of the Titanic. And blasting from it was orchestra music, most likely coming from a real band as well.   
  
The perfect setting for the destruction to come.   
  
Harley, having finished parking, quickly scurried around to the door to let out the two men. Joker meanwhile ‘ _ oooed _ ’ in excitement before slapping the villain next to him roughly on the back.    
  
“That’s our cue, time to break some legs!”   
  
He had meant figuratively, but doing so literally would also be a hoot!   
  
“Huh? … Oh…” Penguin did his best to sooth his racing heart and slid out of the vehicle, using his umbrella as a cane to help support his still shaking legs. A harsh caw caused him to glance up to see his vultures had followed just fine, and were awaiting orders. His gaze trailed over to the enormous yacht, and suddenly he was feeling a lot better.   
  
“Well, well. Brucie’s doing pretty well for himself.” He said to no one in particular, readjusting his hat. “I think I’ll go congratulate him,  **_personally._ ** ” He punctuated this with a short laugh and made his way toward the boarding area, not bothering to wait for Joker. He still hadn’t been told the plan, but did they need one at this point? Steal from the rich, give to the deserving, drown the Wayne, enjoy the party.  **Easy.** He held up a hand to tell the birds to wait. No use causing trouble until the ship set sail.   
  
“Will the lady be joining us?” He asked over his shoulder, already apparently forgiving her for almost killing him a moment ago.   
  
Harley merely smiled down at him, not at all picking up on the fact she was being flirted with.   
  
“Well  _ gee _ , sorry Ozzy. But, uh,  _ y’see… _ ”   
  
She didn’t get to finish her response as the Joker emerged from the limo, his presence alone enough to shut her up as the clown finished her comment for her.   
  
“She’s merely the getaway driver, Pengy. Tonight’s a night for the  **boys,** after all!” It was in this moment he put his hand in his jacket, before pulling out a small remote detonator. Joker’s eyes grew dark, as his gaze fell upon the yacht in the distance. “And something tells me it’s going to be a  **blast.** ”   
  
That was the only hint he planned on giving his confused bird. He had already spent the week getting everything in place. All Penguin had to do was stand there and be pretty, as just the two of them showing up to the high class event should be enough to get Batsy a-flyin’!   
  
Joker’s grin turned more jovial as he leaned over and extended his arm so as the other could grab onto it.    
  
“ _ Shall we, then? _ ”   
  
“ **_Hrrmm…_ ** ” Penguin frowned and eyed the remote control. He didn’t like being out of the loop. And not being in on the Joker’s joke was known to be dangerous. But the sounds of the party aboard were stifling his trepidations. So long as he got to mingle and keep the loot, who cared about the little details? In a way, it felt right to have someone else take care of everything while he enjoyed himself.   
  
“Eh, alright.” He shrugged, and took the offer of the extended arm… mostly because he didn’t trust his legs not to give out just yet. As they neared the ramp, and the man standing at the top of it greeting the guests, Penguin clutched his invitation– which happened to be in the form of a very deadly umbrella.   
  
“Hope you brought your **_invitation_ ** , pal.” He muttered to Joker with a grin.   
  
Joker smirked down at Cobblepot, as his other hand rested inside his coat.   
  
“ _ Wouldn’t leave the house without  _ **_something_ ** _ up my sleeve. _ ”   
  
Like a drop making itself known in a glass of water, the Clown Prince of Crime became the center of attention as he drew forth a barreled gun. Without giving a warning he shot it point blank in the center of the security guard’s skull– a flag that said ‘BANG!’ is a red text as dark as the blood that splattered into the air. Screaming was to follow as people watched in horror as the body into the dark waters bellow.   
  
Joker’s laughter filled the air as he squeezed the man next to him joyfully.   
  
“ **BULLSEYE, PARTNAH!** ”

Unfortunately, Penguin was just as surprised as the other passengers at Joker’s opening act, squawking and side-stepping to avoid getting blood or water on his suit. This guy wasn’t wasting any time! So much for mingling. He probably should have expected this from Joker.

“ **_This_ ** was your **plan** ?!” Oswald scolded, holding out a hand to gesture to the screaming, panicking passengers. Well, if the party had started early, he was going to grab as much loot as he could before the authorities showed up. Or worse, the bat. He signaled to the vultures sitting atop the boat’s roof, and they began attacking the passengers, swiping necklaces and any other shiny things they spotted.

This, of course, only caused more panic and screaming.

Oswald began pushing and shoving his way through the panicking crowd, leaving Joker behind, not even bothering to wait and see if this brilliant plan had a  _ part two _ . He was looking for where they were keeping all the donated cash, but grinned wickedly when he spotted a familiar face dash out to see what the commotion was, instead. Bruce’s shocked expression hardened when Penguin approached him.

“Penguin? I should have _known_ **you** would show up uninvited…”

“Bruce Wayne! Long time no see! It isn’t  _ my _ fault you keep forgetting to send out my invitation…” He mocked hurt. “Hope you don’t mind, I brought a  **friend** along!  _ He’s around here somewhere…” _

“ _ Pengy, Pengy, Pengy _ ,” Joker tutted, as he continued to fire into the crowd– this time missing people on purpose as he instead shot at anything that remotely looked expensive. “A good comedian ALWAYS thrives on improv!”

When Penguin didn’t stick around, the crazed criminal merely shook his head. While it was fun to see the guy also swept up in the chaos, would it kill the guy to have a little  _ faith _ in his taller, more handsome friend? PROBABLY! But Joker supposed that too was the fun.

Joker weaved in and out of the crowd, tripping an old man here and breaking more things there. It wasn’t long until Joker found the ladder that would allow him to the top of the large ship. Once on top, he pulled out a microphone from inside his jacket– one that had earlier been tuned to the frequency of the speakers all over the ship. He tapped it a few times, smiling as he finally noticed Penguin had found his billionaire pool toy, before speaking directly to the screaming crowd.

**“HELLO SNOBBY ELITES OF GOTHAM! It’s yer boy, your lovable Clown Prince of Crime– the Joker!”**

He waited for the screams to die some, captivating his audience in more ways than one. 

**“If you haven’t picked up on it yet, ya’ll are the lucky winners chosen to participate in my once in a lifetime act! As in, you won’t be ALIVE to see another one like it! ”**

Joker’s laugh punctuated this point, but was caught short by Bruce Wayne choosing that moment to yell back up at him.

“What’s the joke here, Joker? If it’s money you want, I will give into you and Penguin’s demands if you let my guests go.”

Joker chose that moment to jump down from his towering height, conveniently landing right in from of the billionaire. Still holding onto the microphone, the criminal took a step forward, letting his own menacing aura take over the crowd.

**“Oh, Brucie Boy, when have** **_*I*_ ** **ever cared about** **_money_ ** **? You and your chums are part of the act for a reason, and one reason alone…”**

Joker threw his gun to the side, before reaching for the detonator he kept in his pocket. He pulled it out slowly, letting the crowd gasp as he held it up for all to see– his thumb dangerously close to the ignition. Seeing the hardened look on Wayne’s face just made his smile more menacing.

**“I want the Batman.”**

**“What!** ” The more this night went on, the more Penguin was beginning to think that maybe, juuust maybe, teaming up with the Joker had been a poor decision. Bruce Wayne had just offered to stand by while they took off with the cash, and Joker had turned the offer down. _ Talk about a nutcase _ !

**_“I_ ** care about the cash!” He whined. “I’ve changed my mind, I’m not with him, I’m flying solo!” He patted Bruce on the back so hard the man pitched forward slightly.

“Pleasure doing business with ya, pal, I’ll be helping myself to the  _ party favors  _ and then I’ll be  _ on my way _ .”

Bruce watched as Penguin spotted the giant donation chalice, making his way over and shoving a woman out of the way. He hopped up and began greedily shoveling the cash into his hat.

But his attention quickly turned back to Joker. Given the circumstances, he was the real threat here. Batman was indeed needed right about now, but he couldn’t just make a run for it… who knew what Joker might do.

“You might be better off looking somewhere else. Batman doesn’t seem like the partying type. A dark alleyway sounds more fitting, don’t you think? I’ll even go with you. A willing hostage.”

Joker had already been amused by Penguin’s attempt at flight, Bruce Wayne playing hero was only icing on his comedy cake. Or was it a banana cream pie? Who could keep up with metaphors, anyway?

The crazed criminal threw an arm around Wayne’s shoulder, pulling him in as he continued to speak into the microphone like some hokey talk show host.

**“Ya hear that, folks? Look’s like Gotham’s favorite son is wanting to play hero! Ain’t that a hoot! What d’ y’say, should I take ol’ Brucie up on his tantalizing offer?”**

He didn’t even wait for the audience’s answer, as he pressed his hand flatly against Wayne’s body– triggering his electric hand buzzer. Spark flew as the billionaire cried out in pain. Joker didn’t even think anything of it as he then pushed Wayne overboard, letting the loud splash from the bay below punctuate the joke.

**“Err, sorry! Wrong answer! I’m a go big or go home sort of clown! Momma dun raised no quitters!”**

The no win situation was emphasized by the criminal’s crazed laugh. Throwing the microphone into the water as well, he let his mirth go on for a while, as the people on the ship started crying out in fear and alarm once more. Ah, _ music to the Joker’s ears _ ! Give it a few more minutes, and soon cries of fear would be turning into thralls of laughter. He pulled up his sleeve, giving the large Mickey Mouse watch on his wrist a good peek.

“Hmm, shouldn’t be much longer now. Batsy is usually timely about these sort of things.”

Penguin paused momentarily to laugh when Bruce was shoved overboard. Sure,  **he** had wanted to be the one to do that, but he was currently preoccupied, stuffing cash into his hat and pockets. As soon as there was no more money to stuff, he climbed out of the donation pot, lost his balance on the rim, and toppled off of it, landing on his face at the foot of it. He struggled to his feet and dusted himself off, throwing deadly glances around just in case anyone dared to laugh. No one did.

However, he  _ did _ catch the eye of a pretty young woman and, perhaps, mistook her look of terror as a look of intrigue. He smiled at her, wickedly, and approached her confidently.

“Well hello there, chickadee. Name’s Oswald, _ Oswald Cobblepot _ , of  **_the_ ** Cobblepots,  _ you might have heard of us. _ What say you and me blow this dump of a party, huh?  _ I can pay you for your time.” _ He dug into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of cash to punctuate his point. The woman merely whimpered and backed away through the crowd. Oswald scowled, but it didn’t last long, as an ominous shadow was suddenly upon him. The crowed gasped and backed away even further, as Penguin spun around.

“Whah?”

“I hate to break it to you, Penguin…” Batman stood there, the impossibly large and heavy (and now very empty) donation bin hoisted above his head. “But you just  _ can’t _ buy love.”

Penguin squawked as Batman brought the thing own on top of him, trapping him under it like a windowless birdcage.

“That’s one down…” Batman muttered to himself, narrowing his gaze as he scanned the place for the real remaining threat.

It was that threat who found him first, as Batman had to dodge the edge of Joker’s bladed cards.

“It’s about time you showed up!” He mocked, as the two started their usual routine of dancing around the place. “You never call, you never write,  _ I was starting to think you didn’t  _ **_care_ ** !”

“I don’t care for this scheme of yours, Joker. If you wanted my attention, why go out of your way to hurt all these people? Where’s the joke?” It was now Batman on the figurative and literal offense, as it was his turn to throw punches and kicks that the slippery clown easily maneuvered around. Joker laughed, allowing himself to fall to the floor before rolling away some distance. Mid roll he used the momentum to spring himself back onto his feet. It was with a loud thump on the ship’s deck that his laughter stopped.

“What’s the joke? The joke is  **YOU** , Batsy.” It was then, with the distance between them great enough, that the crazed criminal took out his detonator once more. He held it up threateningly, thumb dangerously close to the shiny red tip, as he went on. 

“See, I noticed it’s hard to keep our schedules in tact. When I want you, you’re usually off  _ chasing smaller fish to fry. _ ” He smiled towards Penguin who was still trapped under the glass, though his vultures were busy ramming themselves into it in order to set their master free. Joker sighed dramatically. “Look at ‘im! THIS, was the guy that had your attention over ME? Your biggest and baddest foe?  _ I’d say I’m hurt _ … but it’s too funny to take it seriously!”

He laughed again.

“No, so it then dawned on my ol’ noggin that maybe  **_*I*_ ** was the one going soft. That I wasn’t going  **_big_ ** enough! I needed something with a bit more spit shine to it– and then I remembered the ol’ boob tube talking about this lil’ shindig– and, well…  **_I knew I’d have a blast_ ** !”

“Envious, Joker?” Batman glared. “It’s not a good look on you.”

“You kidding?  **_Green’s my color_ ** !”

The suspicion he was being talked about was confirmed when he saw Joker gesture toward him, and Batman even glanced back to look at him briefly. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Joker was  _ laughing _ . This only fueled his anger and frustration. He could only imagine his own cussing and angry shouting were just as muffled.

Joker had only invited him along as a joke, hadn’t he? This lunatic didn’t respect him as a fellow villain, Joker didn’t respect  **anyone.** _ Well, Oswald Cobblepot was no one’s punchline _ . He signaled for his birds to stop their pointless rescue attempts, and shouted at them through the thick glass. They sat perched atop the makeshift cage, tilting their heads as they listened.

“ **_Get! The! Remote!_ ** ” He pointed in the Joker’s direction. The vultures obeyed, taking off toward their new directive. Penguin wasn’t helping Batman… he just wanted to see Joker fail. At that same moment, however, a well-aimed batarang sent said remote from Joker’s hand flying and sliding across the deck. The moment it stopped, it was pounced upon by two very large vultures.

Joker grabbed his now bleeding hand, the Batarang now stuck in the backside of it. Teeth clenched, he glared in the direction of Penguin’s birds as he let out a murderous growl.

“Penguin, you birdbrain!  **Your giant chickens are gonna set off the bombs!** ”

The glare melted off his face as shocked realization hit him– his pain now forgotten as the new joke started to become more clear. Joker laughed again,  this time directing his attention to the equally shocked Bat.

“Now wouldn’t  **_THAT_ ** be a doozy. Better go get ‘em,  _ Batsy, _ before Gotham Bay turns into **_the biggest gas cloud this side of the hemisphere_ ** !”

Batman didn’t need to be warned twice, as it was his turn to swoop into action, doing his best to chase off the birds. It was in this moment that Joker giggled in pure unadulterated glee as he began to run down off the ship, using his good hand to pull out a walkie talkie from his jacket.

“ _ Alright, Harl, that’s your cue! _ ”

He had made it to the ramp of the ship, when the tires of his purple limo screeched as close to the end as it could– the passenger door automatically swinging open on its own.

“Hop in, puddin! **_Momma’s goin’ for a ride!_ ** ”

Joker did just that, happily jumping into the vehicle, as the crazed clowns drove away from the scene as fast as their tricked out car could take them. Their laughter could be heard echoing through the night, as it disappeared into the urban jungle of the city.

Meanwhile, back on the ship, however…

The vultures were squabbling among each other now, fighting over the detonator as if it was a scarce scrap of meat. Batman’s attempts at chasing them away only resulted in them nipping at him, instead, taking a chunk of fabric from his arm before returning to their own argument.

Batman shook his head before reaching for his utility belt, holding up a device that emitted a high pitched sound that got the birds’ attention. They cringed, shook their heads, and took off… but not before stumbling back and stepping on the button. Great.

A hissing sound cut through the murmuring crowd, as Joker-shaped balloons began inflating all around the ship. Batman didn’t need to wonder what they were being filled with.

**“Everyone, off the ship!** **_Now_ ** **!”**

A stampede of passengers began filing off of the boat, many of which even before Batman had instructed them to do so. As soon as he was certain they were all safely on shore, he sprinted inside, jumping behind the wheel. The boat chugged to life and began backing out of the harbor.

The yacht stopped a ways out, and Penguin, still trapped under the glass, was beginning to panic. Was Batman really going to leave him here? Had be  _ forgotten _ about him? These fears turned to dread when one of Batman’s aircrafts zoomed by, and Batman climbed up the ladder that dropped down. He  **was!** He was just going to  **_leave him there_ ** ! Some hero!

Penguin yelped and took cover as the horrifying balloon clowns began to burst, one by one, cowering at the bottom of his glass prison. He only dared peek out when he heard what sounded like a cyclone outside. Batman was using some sort of vacuum attachment on his plane to suck up the spreading gas.

“Oh.  _ Phew!” _ Penguin relaxed and slumped against the side, glad he wasn’t going to die. He watched as the last of the gas was taken care of, and the aircraft took off… leaving him there, after all. He sat there feeling sorry for himself until it returned thirty minutes later, and he was carted off to Arkham.

Batman reassured him that he’d make sure the money was returned to Bruce Wayne. Penguin reassured himself he’d get his revenge on the Joker… probably.

 


	6. An Event of Intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mad Hatter and Scarecrow take to the night to finally go through the heist they've been planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crime tw? Some mild violence? It's Batman, I'm afraid you must come to expect that.

Night had fallen over Gotham City in a slow agonizing pace. Daylight had crept into sundown, which in turn crawled into night. And with the night, the outskirts of the city laid in a heavy blanket of fog– a much needed cover for the job the two criminals would partake. An unexpected turn of events, but the Mad Hatter was not one to sneer at good fortune when and where it decided to rear its head.  

And it was through the fog Hatter and his Hare had made their way towards the industrial side of Gotham, where Intrigue Inc. was waiting for its visitors. The factory’s neon lights showcased its name, and outside of a few lights that littered the parking lot, it remained dead and still. Dark, and foreboding.

Much like the companion that crept along next to him, Hatter couldn’t help but muse. That night the man was no longer the professor he had grown to cherish. Instead, in his wake, was the lanky devil– the Master of Fear himself. It was rare that Jervis had the pleasure of seeing his friend in action, so to speak, and he had to admit that the airs of performance was enough to cause even him to shudder every so often.

“Ah,” the Hatter whispered, as the two pressed themselves into the metal fence that surrounded Intrigue. He gestured towards a small one roomed box that waited near the entrance, with only one guard on the lookout. Well, in actuality the young man wasn’t, if the comic book in his hands was to tell them anything. He couldn’t help but smile as their streak of fortune continued to grow.

“There’s a lesson somewhere here about the morals of job performance, “ Jervis couldn’t help but snicker. “ _But I’m afraid we don’t have Time’s patience to find it._ ”

No matter, why look a gift horse in the mouth when instead one should take what they could find. And that was what the criminal did, as he sneaked his way towards the box. A card already in hand, it took no effort at all to slip inside and place it against the security guard’s temple. The man instantly froze, as the comic went rigid in his hands.

“ _Let’s pretend_ , shall we,” Jervis spoke softly to the man, a touch of whimsy in his voice. “Let’s pretend you’ve become a figment of the Red King’s dream, and _not a thing_ you’ll hear shall _wake you_.”

And out like a candle, the guard was instantly asleep. He wouldn’t disturb a soul. The Matter turned towards his Hare and signaled that the coast was now clear.

“I do so hope he’ll enjoy his dreams.” Jervis couldn’t help but jest towards his friend. “I’m sure it’s a _much better_ fate than anything else he _could have_ suffered from.”

Jervis’ level of control was both admirable and fascinating. While it was true that Scarecrow, too, specialized in a kind of mind control, his methods merely lent suggestion. He couldn’t yet control what each person saw… it was up to their own twisted minds as to what they were shown. But Tetch? His methods allowed him complete control. It lacked insight into a victim’s psyche, but it was certainly useful.

“A bringer of sweet dreams, and the Harbinger of Nightmares; a fitting partnership!” Scarecrow announced, as they let themselves through the gate. Yes, the lone security guard had gotten off easy. The dunderheads inside were the ones about to experience a world of terror at the hands of the Scarecrow!

He paused, mildly taken out of the situation when they approached the side entrance… and the door was wide open, a cinder block resting against it to keep it from swinging closed.

“Is… is this how they do things around here?” Scarecrow questioned, turning to the Hatter, a hand extended toward the open door. He wanted to be certain this wasn’t going to be some sort of trap.

“ _Unfortunately_ ,” Jervis tutted, remembering his experiences with the company from when he had to deal with them. “Although, I don’t _personally_ recollect them slipping up in such a disastrous way _before_. But ,‘tis as they say, ‘fortune favors the bold’!”

And what was bolder than a heist, really?

The Mad Hatter decided to boldly go, as he led the two of them inside. Pistol drawn, another card at the ready, they made their way into the long hall. If Jervis recalled the layout from his study of the building’s blueprints, the security room should be just a ways down.

So down the rabbit hole he went.

Finally the Mad Hatter made it to their destination, as a quick peek inside the door’s window confirmed it. He threw his Hare one of his wicked grins, and with a tip of his hat, it was time for him to perform.

It was easy to sneak inside, as the guard was busy watching one sitcom or another. It didn’t take any effort to slip the card against his cap.

“Now now, didn’t your mother ever teach you about the horrors of watching television? It’ll rot your brain, you know.”

The guard in turn said nothing, as the 10/6 card was programmed to allow its victims to speak by the Mad Hatter’s will alone.

“It all much of a muchness _now_ , I suppose,” Hatter sighed playfully. “But, if you would, be a dear and turn off all the cameras and alarms. We won’t want any interruptions, now would we?”

“ _No we wouldn’t, Mister Hat_.”

“Hatter, _actually_ . And _no need to respond_ . I prefer _silent_ pawns in my chess games.”

It wasn’t long before the security guard did as he was told, turning off all that needed to be. There would be no viewers to catch the criminals in the act today. At least of the digital variety.

Hatter hummed jovially, as he made a stride towards the exit.

“Come along, child. There’s still much work to be done!”

It was on the other side of the door that Jervis and his pawn met back up with his March Hare. Jervis threw the Scarecrow a proud smirk.

“I **_do_ ** believe we’re ready for the next phase. _After you_ , my friend.”

Perhaps it was Scarecrow who was a bit on edge this night. Upon seeing the security guard walk out after the Hatter, Scarecrow was ready to render the man incapacitated. Until he noticed the vacant, far away stare he was sporting. Ah. Hatter was still using him. It was strange, almost insulting, to have someone see him and not be fearful, in fact not see him at all. He waved a hand in front of the man’s face, and he didn’t so much as blink.

Powerful technology, indeed. Scarecrow was thankful, and not for the first time, the Hatter was on his side.

 _“Impressive._ ” Scarecrow muttered, and led the way toward the elevator. Thankfully, it was right where the blueprints had told them it would be. Once inside, he threw a suspicious glare up at the security camera. Part of him knew it was off, but it was a nervous habit he assumed was prevalent in all villains.

Hatter had followed proudly, a bit of a sway in his step. While he wouldn’t consider himself a violent creature– not a **_true_ ** criminal, no– he had to admit there was something to the act of showing off his skills to his friend. ‘ _A_ **_friend_ ** _who also happened to be a_ **_colleague_ ** ,’ Jervis reminded himself. Conversation and company was all well and good, but after _the little mind slip_ that occurred earlier that day… _Well_ , he had to prove that their partnership was valuable. The Mad Hatter was somebody who could earn their keep! He would not allow his dear March Hare to see him as a nobody!

 _“‘I only wish I had such eyes,’”_ Jervis couldn’t help but quote in the privacy of his mind _, “‘To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance, too! Why, it’s as much as I can do to see real people, by this light!’”_

Still, _nonsensical as it was_ , he still rather be a **_somebody_ ** over a **_nobody_ **.

It was in the elevator that the Mad Hatter planned for the next stage. Taking out the gas mask he had brought along with his own duffel bag, Jervis began placing it on himself. Using the reflective surfaces of the elevator to check and straighten his person, he deemed himself properly suited for what laid ahead.

“Here, do be of some help and carry this.” Hatter was, naturally, talking to his pawn as he handed the guard his duffel bag. Unloading his literal baggage, he turned his attention onto the Scarecrow. He seemed… quiet. Quieter than usual, that is. It was following the man’s attention that he noticed Crane staring up at the camera in the car.

“It’s almost a _shame_ they won’t be watching, you know,” Jervis mentioned casually, the smile on his face hidden from his friend. “ _I’m sure your performance is a_ ** _sight_** **_to_** **_behold_** _._ ”

A compliment was just the thing to distract Scarecrow from the ominous security camera. What was even more distracting was the way said compliment affected him. Compliments from the doctors were taken as patronizing hogwash. This one had actually sparked a warm pride within him. This must be what it felt like to be openly supported by a friend…

A friend? Something wasn’t right. Scarecrow had no friends, had no use of them. It was then he realized that, despite donning the Scarecrow mask, the Scarecrow had been nowhere in sight that night. They needed Scarecrow, and instead they’d brought along Jonathan Crane. This wouldn’t do at all. Where was he? He’d never been difficult to find before.

He turned to look at the Hatter, and whatever he’d had to say got caught in his throat along with his breath. He was wearing that ridiculous gas mask! Of course he was, it was part of the plan, it was just–

This final act of weakness, that flash of concerning emotion, forced something else to take over. Crane relaxed when he recognized the gleeful coldness he knew well. He was here! The night might be saved, after all.

Scarecrow straightened, staring at the doors, waiting for them to open. Their reflections were delightfully distorted and unsettling in the reflective surface.

“Oh, trust me; I plan on having **quite** the audience. While **you** gather up what you need, **I’m** going to pay the _workers_ a little visit. Be sure and listen for the screams! _It’s truly the best part.”_

The doors opened, and Scarecrow strode out confidently, finally feeling himself again. A security guard rounded the corner then, and fumbled for the gun at his side, while shouting at him to stop where he was. Unfortunately for him, the villainous duo had the element of surprise, and by the time the gun had been pulled out and pointed, Scarecrow was upon him, smacking the weapon from the man’s grasp.

“You do know which of these rooms have what you need, I hope.” Scarecrow’s other hand was shoved against the man’s face, as he was forced to inhale the green gas that was expelled from it. The man stumbled backward, coughing. The coughing soon turned into whimpers, and then screams, as he looked down at himself and began flailing around wildly, turning and running back around the corner. There was a loud thud as if something heavy had been thrown against a wall, and the screaming stopped.

The transformation had been sudden, as the very airs about the Scarecrow changed in that moment. If the man had been chilling before, the creature before him was absolutely **_blood-curdling_ **. Pupils practically nonexistent as they gazed down at him, Crane’s voice was stilted in the way that came out almost like a demonic growl.

Jervis Tetch merely watched with silent awe as he followed the man out from the skillet and into the fire. The fiend hauntingly ambled out onto the floor, the Mad Hatter accompanying him. When the security guard had pathetically tried to stop them– pulling out his weapon– Scarecrow had smacked it away as if it was nothing. Jervis, ever the observer, couldn’t help but focus on the almost elegant way Scarecrow’s wrist had flicked with the powerful motion.

The ‘oh’ that escaped him was a quiet wispy thing, his hand having found his chest. To describe his reaction as an act of fear would have been incorrect. While one naturally feared those that could readily cause harm, Jervis was **_not_ ** fearful. He knew in that moment, as he watched the creature of nightmares work, that he was not in any danger from this beast. No, it was not **_fear_ ** , but **_reverence_ ** that swelled inside the Hatter. Fondness and wonderment at the sort of power this demon held in his very hands, as he gassed the security guard into phobic submission.

The Mad Hatter snapped back into attention, as the Scarecrow’s inquiry sent him spiraling back to reality.

“Ah, _y-yes_ .” His voice hitched, as he had to remind himself to **_breathe_ **. “I know the way well enough. I shan’t be long, and will meet again post haste!”

The villain turned to walk away down the hall he needed, snapping his gloved fingers at his pawn to follow.

“Come, my little fish, there’s some shopping to be done.”

_He’s still nervous._

**He’ll get used to it.**

Scarecrow turned and watched Hatter leave, before choosing a door and peering inside. Three people, two men and a woman, were busy working on one thing or another. Two of which wore protective goggles… but they would do nothing to protect them from **him**. He did wonder how they had not heard the man screaming in the hall just moments before. The people here really were morons. How had they even been employed here?

“ _Knock-knock. I hope I’m not_ **_interrupting_ ** _anything._ ” Scarecrow slipped into the room, locking the door behind him. The three employees looked up, and he drank in the delicious looks of terror on their faces. Fear! Fear of **him.** He **_lived_ **for this.

“S-scarecrow! What are **you** doing **_here_ **?” A man cried.

“ _Ohh, I’m just in the market for a couple of guinea pigs._ **_You three will do nicely_ **!”

Scarecrow laughed and spread his arms, as gas began spewing not only from his fingertips, but from the mouth of his mask, filling the room with a thick green gas. The built in gas mask in his Scarecrow hood protected him, but the three employees weren’t so lucky. It wasn’t long before the screaming began. Sweet, sweet music to his ears.

“ **J-joker!”**

“ _What?”_ Scarecrow’s laughter was cut short. He glanced around like a fool before he realized it was simply his Fear Toxin taking effect. The woman’s worst fear in that moment was obviously the Joker. Sure, alright, fine, he supposed–

“The Joker!” One of the men this time. “He’s got his Joker venom!”

“… Really?”

 **“I’m too young to die!”** The third man was sobbing now, all three were huddled in one corner, staring, pointing and screaming at nothing on the other side of the room.

“Are you– you can’t ALL be– this is just ridiculous!”

Hope and relief bloomed within him as he saw the woman see him again. Yes! Good! She broke from the huddle and dove toward him, much to his shock and confusion. She had latched her arms around his legs, and at first, he was certain he was being attacked. But she was trembling, her face buried in his pant leg. She looked up at him with tears and fear in her glossed over gaze.

“Mister, please! You have to **_do_ ** something, **_he’s going to kill us all!”_ **

**__ **

Anger and frustration welled and burst as he began to shout down at the pleading woman.

 _“I AM THE SCARECROW!_ **_THE SCARECROW!_ ** _THE_ **_MASTER_ ** _OF_ **_FEAR?_ ** _Perhaps you’ve_ **_HEARD OF ME?”_ **

But the woman was back to staring at the nothing on the other side of the room.

“ _Oh, forget it!”_ Scarecrow grabbed the woman by the front of her labcoat, lifting her off of him and tossing her into the corner, before turning and stomping out the door, muttering to himself.

He tried his best not to be offended. He’d successfully accomplished what he’d come here to do; test out his Fear Toxin. Obviously, it needed work; its victims were too aware of their actual surroundings, enough to be influenced by one another. The woman had seen Joker, and had put that idea in the other two’s minds. Obviously. His toxin needed to be stronger, to bring them deeper into their own minds, but at least he knew that now.

These thoughts helped calm him as he stalked his way down the hall, only vaguely aware he was looking for his partner in crime. Business aside, he wasn’t having fun anymore, and he wanted to _go home_ now. He hoped Hatter had found what he needed.

* * *

 

Jervis Tetch had returned to his element, once he had parted ways with his March Hare. Crane would always be a welcomed guest in his mind and Wonderland, and as much as he respected the Scarecrow, part of him worried that the two of them might not get along. It was hard to find a place at the table for a god, after all. _What would he even serve him?_

But no, fear was not his method. The act of unnerving was not the Hatter’s preference. Making a game of what he needed was the way to go. And it was at the end of the hall where he found a storage room, shelves upon shelves of technical bric-a-bracs littering the place. The pawn continued to follow, as Jervis began pulling off things he needed from the shelves.

“It’s a shame I can’t be taking you with me, you know. ‘Tis tempting, but while **_two_ ** is company, **_three_ ** has a habit of crowding– and there’s only so much room in the barn, you know.”

Hatter let another _‘oh’_ escape him as realization dawned on him.

“You’ll do better to **_forget_ ** what I just said, my dear. Muttering such secrets to flying rodents might just leave _someone_ shouting ‘ **OFF WITH HIS HEAD** ’.”

The criminal didn’t need the security guard to respond to know his threat would lie dormant in his pawn’s subconscious well after the heist was finished.

The duffel bag was completely full of computer parts by the time Scarecrow found him. Swirling around, gun at the ready when he heard the door open. Jervis let out a sigh of relief when he saw who it _really_ was.

“Oh, Jonathan, _you startled me._ ” Jervis paused as he finished zipping up the bag. “ I do believe I got all that I require. If you’re finished _testing things_ …” There was a playful lilt. “We can swing by the company’s safe for some _additional funds_ before leaving. If you feel we have the time, that is.”

Having a gun pointed at him by someone competent had successfully brought him out of his self-pitying sulk, and instantly cleared his head. Pinpoint pupils lingered on the gun until it was put away and Hatter busied himself with the bag.

Scarecrow, admittedly, wanted to get out of there. Batman had a way of showing up at the worst times, and he knew they should hurry if they wanted to escape with their freedom intact. But a part of him really didn’t want to return to the barn just yet, either. He was sick and tired of those four walls. It felt good to be back in Gotham, honestly.

“ _The Fear Toxin needs work…”_ He grinned wickedly as the screaming and sobbing could still be heard down the hall. _“But it should keep them preoccupied long enough for us to take a little detour.”_ He supposed they’d need money, too. Chemicals were so expensive these days. He stepped aside and gestured for Hatter to lead the way, this time. He didn’t recall exactly where the safe might have been. He assumed Hatter’s gun would be enough to open said safe… he’d neglected to bring any explosives this time around.

Jervis had questions about what ‘needs work’ could pertain to. From what HE was hearing, the screaming still echoing off the walls as the three of them left the room, it seemed about as successful as it could be.

Still, the Hatter kept that thought to himself. As men of science, it was sure to come up sooner or later.

It was a hop and a skip– or more accurately an elevator ride-- later, when the three made it to the top floor of the building. It was where Intrigue Inc. kept their offices, and more importantly, where they housed their safe. While Jervis had never been on the floor before, if one had seen one office they had really seen them all. Long rows of cubicles stood on either side of a narrow passageway, and down at the end was the room that housed the company head’s name. Not even bothering checking to see if his pawn had any keys on him– what security guard would have keys to the big boss’ office, _really_?– Hatter used the handle part of his gun to break the window. Glass clattered from the hole he created, as Jervis put his hand through and untwisted the lock from the other side.

Just a quick turn of the knob, and inside he went.

“I had plenty of time to do research during my last stay in Arkham,” the man began, as he looked over towards the desk, where a safe rested under it. Getting on a knee, he continued as he explained what he planned to do. “You know the doctors, always encouraging the endeavor of gaining more knowledge. So I followed their advice, and one bribe of a guard later, I found myself learning the trade of locksmithing… Did you know that most safes come with what they call ‘try-out combinations’? If lady luck continues to shine upon us this evening, she shall also grace us the luxury of these dolts overlooking resetting the factory preset.”

The Mad Hatter squinted into the dark room, as he strained to see the turn lock. Giving it a few good twists to the right, he found his first number.

“61…. 4…. 37. Let us see if I win **this** gamble.”

All it took was a pull of the handle to answer that, as it opened with ease.

The Mad Hatter grinned with pure unadulterated glee.

**_“Jackpot!”_ **

Scarecrow was glancing around suspiciously as they entered the room, and stifled a groan when he saw Hatter was attempting to crack the safe rather than shoot the lock off.  They didn’t have time for **that,** it was going to take him **hours.** Scarecrow folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as he waited impatiently, but said nothing.

Hatter would learn.

But it was he who was surprised. Shocked, in disbelief. Scarecrow gaped as the door swung open instantly. The Mad Hatter had a few surprises up his sleeves, after all. Scarecrow quickly pulled the neatly compacted bag he’d had tucked in the back of his pants, and shook it out, setting it on the floor next to him.

“The imbeciles here **really** know how to cater to _thieves_! We should make it a point to shop here more often.”

This was in jest, of course. He imagined, after that night, security would be improved, if ever so slightly. Or perhaps he was giving them far too much credit.

Hatter hummed in amused agreement, quickly stuffing the money into the duffel bag that was offered to him. He made sure to put it on the side that wasn’t housing their change of clothes, and in no time at all, that bag too was full. Getting up off the floor, his knees and back only hurting a little from the awkward position, Jervis handed off the bag to his friend before turning to his pawn that had been silently awaiting his next instructions.

“I’ll be taking that, _thank you_ .” The Mad Hatter gave a polite nod, as he grabbed the computer parts and gently placed it over his own shoulder. The criminal, then, placed a gentle hand on the lower end of the guard’s back as he began escorting him to the desk. “Now, my little oyster, I’m afraid this is where we part ways. I greatly thank you for your services, but I do believe it’s for the best you stay here. We wouldn’t want any **_dead weight_ ** , now **_would_ ** we?”

The threat was not acknowledge, just as nothing else had been, as the pawn sat down in the boss’ chair with a loud heavy plop. Jervis, giving the man a quick tip of his hat, turned back to his friend as he gracefully strutted towards the door.

“Come, dear March, we’re nearly to the end of our game!”

Everything had gone according to plan. There hadn’t been a single hiccup. They came, they saw, and by God, they CONQUERED. Hatter wasn’t used to feeling this gleeful. After a life of misery and feeling like he never got what he wanted, it felt RIGHT to finally have life giving him what he DESERVED. Jervis couldn’t help but feel like this was fate, that maybe it was written in the stars for him to go through his plan to make his dream machine.

Outside once more, these thoughts were put on hold as the two villains made a run for it through the thick fog. Once finding cover, they had quickly changed, and trekked the remaining ways until they found Jonathan’s truck that was waiting for them. And it was in said truck, as Jervis caught his breath, that the man removed his tweed cap as he began fanning himself. The blond man couldn’t help the joyful laugh that escaped him as Crane drove off into the night.

“By God, **_what a thrill_ ** ! What a evening! Oh _Jonathan_ ,” Here the man’s name came out like purr of delight, though it was purely unintentional. Jervis went on.  “Everything went **_so well_ ** ! Is this usually, what a successful escape **_feels_ ** like? One can’t help but feel they’re dreaming!”

Jonathan, too, was riding an adrenaline high, but doing his best not to be swept up by it. They weren’t out of the woods yet; Batman had a way of showing up at the very last second. Literally. He was smiling smugly, but kept a close watch on the rear view mirrors just the same.

It didn’t feel **_right,_ ** somehow. That had been _far_ too easy. Had he simply been teaming up with the wrong people all this time? Jervis was certainly more useful than your average thug. He had a brain and he knew how to use it. Had Crane stumbled upon the perfect formula for victory? Did the talents of the Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter combine to spell an unstoppable team? Did–

He’d been vaguely aware of Jervis speaking, but it was the utterance of his name that caused the truck to hitch slightly as the wheel flinched with the hands grasping it, caused his smug grin to vanish, his teeth to clench. The tone in which it had been spoken brought over him a flood of… deja vu, accompanied by a flicker of other feelings, worrying imagery, quick flashes of a nightmare willingly forgotten.

“I thought I saw a rabbit.” He muttered quickly, and then cleared his throat and composed himself. “This is _no dream_ , I assure you. Take credit where credit it due, Tetch. _You are truly a master of your craft.”_

’ _He did better than I managed to_.’ He thought to himself, bitterly, still unable to shake off the feeling of disappointment brought on by his toxin not working the way it should have. Setbacks were always mildly disheartening. The barn loomed in the distance, and Crane sighed. Hell sweet Hell.

Jervis, too, had been startled out of his happy high from the sudden lurch. It was in that moment he realized he hadn’t been wearing his seat belt, and while chuckling a bit nervously at the compliment, the man found himself as nonchalantly as he could buckling himself in.

“Well, thank you all the same. I’m sure it was merely a case of finding the right incompetent people. I’m hopeful, but wouldn’t be surprised if this event becomes a rarity.” Jervis twiddled his thumbs, a habit he had to distract himself from uncomfortable thoughts.

It wasn’t much longer before the two happened upon their home. After grabbing their precious cargo, they made their way inside where Jervis carefully placed his bag next to his chair. How peculiar, he couldn’t help but muse, to have quickly claimed it as his own. It was with a long exhale, Tetch allowed himself to unceremoniously plop into the chair.

“All fun aside, I do fear my energy has petered itself out.” He allowed himself to sigh again, as he smiled towards his Hare. “You know… I enjoyed seeing you wield _your_ talents, too, you know. I’m thankful for the mask you gifted upon me, as I wouldn’t have been able to experience it as an _outside observer_ otherwise.”

Crane’s first assumption was he was being mocked. His scowl lessened when he realized Jervis hadn’t actually **_seen_ ** the disaster scenario that had taken place. He was being genuine. _But was he really_ ? Or was he being _polite?_ His humiliating display tonight had made him begin to doubt himself. Did others truly see him as a terror? Or was he simply making a fool of himself?

Jonathan dropped the bag of cash and clothes onto the floor, his hat and sunglasses on top of the bag, and slumped into the chair across from Jervis. He let the silence spin out for awhile before asking a dreadful question.

“Jervis… **you** think I’m scary, _don’t you?_ **_I’m_** threatening, aren’t I?” He asked, almost pleadingly. “Be honest, _I can take it.”_

Jervis Tetch instantly found himself sitting upright in his chair the moment the question was asked. He was ignorant about what had transpired, so to **_him_ ** this line of inquiry was **_completely unfounded_ **.

“Jonathan, where in heaven’s name is **_this_ ** coming from?” It was then that he was hit by the professor’s words from earlier. “Did… something happen? When we split ways, I mean.”

 **“I** **_had_ ** **them!”** Crane suddenly blurted, momentarily back in that room. “Writhing in fear beneath me! _I was_ **_giving_ ** _them my_ **_all!_ ** _”_ He stood up abruptly, arms extended, hands hooked into claws. This stance soon wilted as he slumped with a defeated sigh.

“And **_yet,_ ** it was the _Joker’s_ name they were screaming. **The Joker!** I was **_right there,_ ** the _Master of Fear!_ ” He wandered away from the chair then, absentmindedly grabbing a fistful of straw from the floor and stuffing it down the front of his shirt, before spinning around to continue.

“One of them even had the **nerve** to ask **ME** for **_help!_ ** Clinging to me as if **_I_ ** were their salvation, the **_least terrifying thing in the room_ **!” Crane wilted again, shaking his head sadly.

“What could I be doing _so wrong_ ? How could I be less terrifying than _a clown_?”

Jervis watched this man as he went on, eyes wide as he yelled and paced the room. Confusion swelled up in him when the man began stuffing straw into his shirt, but he let that pass as the more he watched Crane, the more he didn’t know what he could say to make him feel better.

“Well, I’m not knowledgeable enough about fears as **_you_ ** are… But I imagine living in Gotham must make people at least **_weary_ ** of clowns. I’m sure there could have been a number of factors, like maybe they or a loved one had an unfortunate case with Joker in the past that has left them traumatized?”

Even Jervis felt like he was grasping at metaphorical straws. Still, he carried on.

“In any case, I’ll have you know what I **did** witness was **_fascinating_ ** . You certainly had the **_guard_ ** running in terror. I’m sure **_he’ll_ ** have nightmares about the Scarecrow for years to come.”

 _The security guard?_ **_That_ ** was what Tetch was trying to boost his ego with? That hadn’t been impressive at all! That was like swatting an inconvenient fly. Jonathan found he felt almost disappointed now. Jervis was a genius, one he could call his equal, _but must he be such a yes-man_ ? Jonathan was suddenly aware he’d been hoping the man would tell him exactly how he felt, tell him he was kidding himself. At least **_then_ ** he’d know what needed work. But this? This was just patronizing.

“Either way.” He waved a hand dismissively and turned. He didn’t want to look at Jervis right now. “The point isn’t to hallucinate about _me_ in the first place, I suppose. It’s just. Every villain in Gotham ends up growing tired of playing second fiddle to that clown eventually. … …   _Oh, it doesn’t matter.”_

Having an impromptu therapy session with a fellow criminal wasn’t only pointless and embarrassing, it was poor practice. Crane rifled through the bag until he found his tattered red burlap shirt, and headed toward the ladder. He hoped sleep might help ease his mind.

Jervis merely watched, uncertainty welling up in him as Crane continued to talk. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to disagree with him on the fact the Joker was dangerous? Wasn’t it _he_ who had advised him that no matter what, it would be in his best interest to stay clear of the mad man? If the likes of fellow criminals were naturally meant to feel some level of fear towards the Joker, of course the likes of _normal_ people were going to be afraid.

“ _‘But I don’t want to go among_ **_mad_ ** _people,_ ’” Jervis couldn’t help but think of poor Alice’s remark. And with it he voiced the line that followed:

“ _‘Oh, you can’t help that,’_ ” the Hatter muttered softly, barely audible. Oh, how had such a pleasant evening gotten so out of control so fast? The man didn’t get to dwell on this thought for long, as sadness turned to fearful agitation as he began to watch his friend walk away.

“W-wait, **_please_**. Maybe I’m just not understanding correctly? If the point of the fear toxin isn’t to make people hallucinate about you, specifically-- if it _truly_ is about you wielding another’s fears, triggering their worst experiences… Wouldn’t the fact you crafted their nightmares from thin air only showcase your power? Joker was a **_side-effect_** , but Scarecrow was ** _the_** **_cause_**.”

The more Jervis tried to get him to believe his lies, the more frustrated Jonathan became. He really thought he could fix every situation with kind words, didn't he? Kiss someone's shoes until they grew complacent?

"Jervis..." He placed a hand on the ladder and hung his head. _"You don't need to patronize me._ I **_kindly_ ** asked for _honesty_ . I'm not as weak minded as you seem to think I am; I can **handle** a _harsh word_ now and then."

The nervous fiddling that Jervis had been doing with his tweed cap instantly came to a halt as Jervis felt like he had been physically lashed.

“ _Patronizing you?_ ” Jervis glared, as defiance swelled up inside him. “ Who’s patronizing whom? _You_ were the one that assumed I was disingenuous! You’re so busy feeling _sorry for yourself_ , that you won’t even **_listen_ **!”

Tetch was **_indeed_ ** upset. It was not only a very rude thing to imply a person was merely blowing at smoke stacks-- _especially someone you considered a friend_ \-- but the fact it wasn’t even **_true_ ** was enough to boil his blood. It was his turn to stomp away, as he went to grab for his top hat-- and more importantly, the control band inside it.

“Fine, if you’re **_insistent_ ** on letting your own feelings get the better of you. You can **_at least_ ** be a man of science about it.” Jervis waved his items in his hands wildly in Crane’s direction as he angrily went on. “Here, **_take it._ ** Prove to yourself just how much of a _people pleaser_ I am! Ask me what I **_REALLY_ ** think.”

Jonathan was frozen in place, just staring at the device that had been thrust into his face. It took him a moment to even understand what Jervis was suggesting he do with it. When he finally understood, his mood came crashing down with many emotions at once.

Jervis wanted so badly for Jonathan to believe his praise, he was willing to subject himself to mind control. He may as well have stripped right in front of him, offering that level of open vulnerability. And for what? For Jonathan to believe brown nosing lies? No... Jervis had actually been **_hurt_ ** by his accusations. Jervis really **had** been being sincere, showering him with true admiration, and Jonathan had spit in his face. And while the thought of being able to peer inside someone's mind, to know every secret, was tempting…

Honestly, the thought of Jervis with the vacant stare of a man under the effects of that thing made him feel sick.

"No..." Jonathan gently pushed the offered device away, and averted his gaze. "I'm sorry, Jervis." This apology was stilted, as if he wasn't used to saying those particular words. "I was... out of line, my accusations uncalled for. I was being... _childish._ "

Feelings were funny things at times. Jervis genuinely had been angry to the point his mind had told him the only way to take control of things was by giving the other man exactly what he wanted. Hatter was thankful that the action had been read entirely as he meant it-- he didn’t need to be a psychologist to know that a man obsessed with control offering his will to another had _powerful_ implications. All anger evaporated with Crane declining his offer, as his own sense of trust and fondness for his friend won out in the end.

“I suppose my little _fit_ wasn’t the most mature way of handling your feelings either. I… merely ran out of alternatives.” Jervis took a step forward, this time letting his free hand rest on his Hare’s shoulder. “I really **_was_ ** impressed with you tonight, Jonathan. I must admit I found Scarecrow’s presence _positively chilling_ \-- one can’t help but to hope they never meet the end of his ire.”

A warm, calming sense of relieve resulted from Jervis' acceptance of his apology. He actually favored Jervis with a weak smile and a nod.

"Thank you, Tetch. Your respect is worth ten times as much as theirs." Ah. That had gotten a little too... something. His weak smile fell and he sighed, moving away and changing the subject.

"Honestly, I'm just upset with myself. I was so sure this toxin formula was flawless, but... it isn't STRONG enough. They were still lucid enough to be influenced by one another, and while that may prove useful in very specific situations... How am I supposed to study the effects of fear on the mind if the results are tainted by outside stimuli?"

Talk of science was easier than emotions. He turned back to Jervis.

"You know quite a bit about the human mind and its inner workings. Perhaps you could... help me with it while you're here? If... you wouldn't mind. Of course."

“ I would be delighted to help however I can,” Jervis answered truthfully. “While my knowledge of chemistry is lacking, I have discovered some things in my research that may very well apply to your conundrum.”

It was then that Jervis’ body choose to make known that another matter held more importance, as a yawn escaped him.

“But that will come morning. I fear that all this excitement has taken its toll on me.” He smiled weakly. “While I’m sure the urge to toy with your chemistry set must be very alluring, I **_do_ ** so hope you’ll join me in bed instead.”

Jervis was too busy yawning again to take in his phrasings, as he used his gloved hand to cover his mouth.

His phrasing didn't go unnoticed by Crane, however. The tickle of childish amusement caused him to make a poor decision. He sighed dramatically, and shrugged.

"I'd take you up on that offer... it has been awhile... but I'll have to pass. I'm a little too tired for that kind of thing tonight."

He turned and waved a dismissive hand. "Good night, Jervis. Don't wait up." He had a few things to ponder about before he'd be ready for slumber.

It was probably for the best that Crane’s back had been turned, as the sudden flush of abashment that went through Tetch was too much to manage.

“Really, Jonathan, back to more childish games?” Jervis huffed, making his way up the ladder to the loft before stopping halfway to throw back his final remark. “For the record, if I **_had_ ** been offering what you jested, I would **_hope_ **you’d at least wine and dine me first. I’m not the kind to ‘give out’ on a second date, as it were.”

With those final thoughts aside, his sensibilities over the matter having been satisfied, Jervis settled on finally sleeping. He decided he wouldn’t let the sounds of the professor’s mirth bother him. He was above it!

Still, a smile couldn’t help but grace his features as he laid down into the straw. Despite its hiccups… it would truly be a night he remembered for some time to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pics in the chapter are provided by the ever lovely @micaxiii: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	7. Madness with the Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All work and no play is not a way to live. After a morning of work, Crane and Jervis find themselves looking for their next meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Use of 'queer' tw just in case you need it. Also, for criminals, these middle aged men are too fucking cute and I want them to CEASE AND DESIST.

Morning came far before noon for a change, as Crane had fallen asleep at his work desk. It wouldn't have been the first time, nor the last. He grunted and sat up, his back and neck protesting his poor decisions. He blinked the sleep from his eyes until the papers on his desk came into focus... and he groaned this time, flopping back dramatically in his chair, head hung over the back of it, staring up at the barn ceiling, gangly arms hung loosely over the sides.

He was still no closer to figuring out how to fix the formula.

A flutter, a thump, and a caw caused him to look back at the desk, where Nevar stood, looking at him curiously. Then he dropped something on the desk. It made a tiny clacking sound, and when Jonathan leaned forward to pick it up, Nevar flew away to watch him from the rafters, instead.

A sunflower seed. Jonathan stared at it. Nevar cawed at him again, and he cast his irritable gaze up at the bird. Without breaking eye contact, he put the thing in his mouth, and began to chew, shell and all. Satisfied, the bird flew off, out of the loft doors.

At least it hadn't been a worm this time.

The sounds of cawing was enough to stir Jervis from his own slumber-- while not the most unpleasant of sounds, it had been enough for the Hatter to be baffled out of his Wonderland. Eyes fluttering open softly, the blond man found himself moaning as he stretched among his straw bedding. Ah, straw. While it wasn’t the _worst_ thing he slept on-- somehow Arkham’s cots still won supreme in that regard-- the texture left something to be desired. Maybe some blankets should be high up on their list of priorities? The nights wouldn’t stay warm for much longer, as Autumn had the habit of becoming cold when you least expected it. Perhaps Jonathan wouldn’t mind if they eventually procured a few for comfort? Especially if he promised to pay from his own stack of funds…

It was with the thought of the professor that Jervis looked over and noticed his Hare was nowhere in sight. This in turned encouraged the man to rouse from bed, looking over the side of the loft.

“Oh! You’re up early. Good morning.” Jervis called down, before making his way down the ladder. “Please, pray tell, you didn’t stay up all night, I hope?”

It still felt strange to be wished a good morning in such a friendly tone. Good mornings usually came in the form of smug asylum guards. This was more pleasant, just unusual.

"I slept." Well, it wasn't a lie. Jonathan stood from the chair and gave a stretch. He was going to be sore for the rest of the day now. He cursed his foolishness. "I'm no closer to figuring out what to do with my Fear Toxin, but I slept." Jonathan often wished the human body could function without sleep. Just think of all of the things he could get done if he didn't require sleep!

Without asking, he went to work setting up the tea kettle. Tea wasn't much, but it was something.

"And you? Did you dream of sugar and gumdrops?" This was asked sarcastically, but most things that spilled from his mouth sounded sarcastic, whether it was meant or not.

Luckily Jervis had enough awareness of this fact not to truly take insult. It was one of the professor’s charms, he supposed. Still, for all pretenses, Tetch huffed indignantly.

“I’ll have you know they were baked confections, _thank you very much_.” Jervis sat down in his seat, and he couldn’t help the genuine smile that graced his face. “But I did sleep well, thank you. Though, I believe we’ll be needing to make another trip out sometime in the near future for blankets. If you wouldn’t mind, that is.”

It was then that Nevar made himself known once more, as he gave a loud squawk to get Jervis’ attention.

“Oh,” the man gave a noise of surprise, as the crow flew and landed in his lap. “I had nearly forgotten about you, with all our excitement. Now tell me, Nevar, did sleep find you well, as well?”

This, of course, was left unanswered as Jervis laid affection upon the creature.

The thought of trying to sleep on or under soft blankets made Crane frown. He had been made immensely uncomfortable by a comfortable shirt, how would he manage to survive a blanket? But it really didn't matter; Jervis surrounding himself with soft, comfortable things didn't need to affect Jonathan at all.

"Do what you must to make your stay more comfortable, I suppose." He set a cup of tea on the table in front of his guest, and dropped a couple of sugar packets beside that. True, Jervis hadn't used them the last time, but he'd gotten the feeling it had been an act of stubbornness then.

Jonathan sat in the other chair with his own cup cradled in his hands. The morning was cold, so the scalding warmth felt nice. He couldn't help but snicker at the bird cuddled into Jervis' lap... mostly due to the fact two sunflower seeds rested on the man's leg beside the bird.

"Aren't you doing to eat your breakfast, Tetch? He slaved over it, you know."

“‘Breakfast’?” Jervis inquired, his gaze having been more focused on the coveted drink that laid in wait on the table. His gaze followed Crane’s own, as he finally noted the seeds. “Seeds?” A closer look as he picked them up in his hands. “OH, sunflower seeds.” He looked back at Jonathan in confusion. “Does he… require me to open them for him? I had assumed that’s what beaks were for…”

Of course. Those who didn't grow up in more rural areas might not associate sunflower seeds with being people food. Jonathan covered his amused smirk with his cup.

"No, he requires you to eat them, Jervis. All you've eaten since your escape were those sardines, he's merely looking out for you."

This had quickly turned into a fun but twisted game. Could he use Jervis' inherent manners against him? Could he guilt the man into eating something he saw as bird food? Not a way to treat a friend, surely, but Jonathan couldn't help but delight in mind games.

Nevar turned his head up to look at Jervis expectantly, and Jonathan was gleeful that the bird seemed to be playing this game, as well.

A look of understanding quickly turned to a look of disgust as Jervis’ realized what this gift meant. Eyes as wide as dinner plates, it took far too much effort to compose himself in front of friend and beast.

“He… he can’t really expect me to eat it?” It was then that the man turned towards the bird, gently placing his hand with the seeds to his beak. “You **_do_ ** realize I can’t take this, as lovely as the gesture is. It’s been in your **_mouth_ ** .” At this Jervis pouted, as if to implore the creature to understand. “ Please… eat it on my behalf. I’m sure we’ll find _something_ of our own sooner or later.”

Watching a man plead and try to reason with an animal so seriously was... in all honesty, hilarious. Jonathan managed to keep his amusement to a snicker and a chuckle, but even that was probably too much.

"Nevar… go play lookout so Jervis can enjoy his tea in peace, hm?"

Nevar, only understanding the word "lookout", promptly hopped up and glanced over at Jonathan before taking off and out the window. Corvids really were intelligent, for birds, he mused. Easy to train... unfortunately.

"Will you beginning immediately on your... machine, or...?"

If Jervis was anything like himself, he was no doubt itching to get to work.

The moment Tetch found his lap free of bird, he grabbed for his tea cup. Pouring a couple packs of sugar inside it, Jervis swirled the cup around a few times in an attempt to stir the drink.

“Hmm, I was considering it, yes. I have a good idea on how to go about the components, it’s the program itself that may give me some trouble.” He took a sip of tea. “It’s a shame Edward’s still in Arkham, his skills with virtual reality programing might have been some help in transferring some of the ideas into the device. But alas, one must work with what they’re given.”

Jervis was about to take another drink, when he suddenly remembered something from the night before.

“Oh! Unless you rather brainstorm about your fear toxin. I did promise to help however I could, after all. One would be a poor guest to turn down the only request asked of them.”

Ah, yes, poor Nygma, still stuck in Arkham, Jonathan mused to himself, smugly. Oh so smart, and yet couldn't even manage to solve the riddle of escape.

"Hm? Oh, no, you go ahead." Jonathan waved the notion off. He would have liked Jervis' opinion on it, perhaps, but he had his own work to do. "I'm sure it'll come to me eventually." He cast a disdainful glance back at his work desk, where his seemingly useless notes lay.

"You know..." He sat his empty cup on the table, and stood. "I think they sell blankets at the thrift shop. I'm sure you've missed Margaret, anyway." This was mostly in jest. He wasn't in a hurry to visit her again after what happened the last time. With that, Jonathan returned to his work desk, and, begrudgingly, sat back down in the chair. He picked up a sheet of notes and stared at it, hoping it looked like it was helping his situation in the slightest.

“Jokes on you, Jonathan, I so happened to have enjoyed Margaret’s company. She was…” Jervis paused, as he tried to find the appropriate word to describe both his joy and frustrations from being in the woman’s presence. “She was _charismatic_ , to say the least. Still, you did mention her shop being the only store for miles, so one must take what they can get.”

Finishing off his first cuppa for the day, Hatter fully knowing it wouldn’t be his last, set the china down onto the coffee table.

“That said, if you’re absolutely sure about puttering on your own...  If you wouldn’t mind loaning me a screwdriver, I do believe I’ll start working.”

One provided screwdriver later, and Tetch went straight to work. Going through his duffel bag, the man began tinkering as he unscrewed metal casings-- diving straight into parts as he laid them out onto the coffee table turned workbench. Most of the task  in the beginning had been menial, just doing his best to get to all the inner-workings. Jervis made a mental checklist of things he would need to buy later-- the likes of metal and welding equipment being at the top of the list. Not a worry, considering he had more than enough money for that. And if his Hare knew the layout well enough, a simple trip to a junkyard could give him most of what he needed.

Humming to himself the tune of ‘Diddle Diddle’, Tetch was soon done emptying the parts from their casings as a pile gathered at his feet. He couldn’t help but muse to himself at the thought of the greedy Walrus and Carpenter, as they too found themselves with a pile of oyster shells after the work of eating.

 _‘“I weep for you”,’_ Jervis couldn’t help but tease in his mind, _“‘I deeply sympathize.’”_

This was, naturally, a lie as the man allowed his foot to gently brush the pieces to the side and out of the way. Having allowed his fun, Jervis went straight back to inspecting and sorting out chips and motherboards. It was through this busy work, a good hour or two after having started, that the inventor couldn’t help but pick up on the frustrated mumbling from the other side of the room.

“Something wrong, Jonathan?” Tetch inquired, as he continued to sort as if he was playing a game of solitaire. “With the sort of fuss you’re going about, one would start to think you were fighting for the crown.” And losing the battle, but the man had enough sense not to mention _that_.

Agitated fingers drummed on Jonathan's work desk, the other hand currently balled into a fist full of hair. Part of him was even more frustrated that his struggle had been noticed and commented on, but another part of him felt mild relief. He was getting nowhere on his own.

"Perhaps... a fresh, outside look at my problem may give me new perspective." He suggested, without turning. Jonathan took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out slowly, letting some tension and frustration out with it.

"Would you mind taking a look? I won't take more than a moment of your time."

His pride had made that difficult. But it was out there now. His pride would be healed when his toxin worked correctly, he assured himself.

Jervis did what was asked on him, looking down at the messy scrawl of a man frustratingly trying to sort out his current problem. A lot of the paper’s page was filled with technical talk, mentionings of things like benzodiazepines and other chemical compounds that were most likely used to trigger the hallucinogenic effects of his toxins. The problem with helping his Hare was the fact he was presenting him knowledge from a psychiatric point of view, something the Hatter could not provide. At first Jervis sighed, fearing that he would have to tell his friend the unfortunate news that he didn’t know where to even begin with his problem, when a sudden stroke of inspiration hit him.

“Jonathan, I have an idea: let’s pretend I’m your rubber duck.” The look of utter confusion on the other man’s face only made Jervis smile more, as he explained. “You see, it’s a handy little trick that programers tend to do when they feel stuck on some aspect or another. Pulling out a toy duck, they begin to explain to it as simply as they can their problem.”

The Hatter’s beamish expression found itself slipping, as he implored him.

“Do humor me, if you would. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’m afraid to even come up with a suggestion I might need to learn a little more about how your process works. I have some theories, based on the things I’ve come upon through suppressing the brain waves of the frontal lobe. However, _fear is another beast entirely._ ”

Yes, of course, Jonathan had been so enthused to talk shop with a fellow tinkerer of the mind, that he failed to take into account the fact they studied the mind in completely different ways.

"Well..." Jonathan stared at his cluttered desk without really seeing it, as he thought about how to explain the process in more simplified terms. "The chemicals I use largely affect the amygdala portion of the brain... specifically, it triggers both the fear and memory responses. The subject is _supposed_ to hallucinate whatever scares them the most, and it **does** do that. … In isolated instances, anyway." He turned to Jervis now instead of his desk. "You remember the security guard. He was obviously afflicted with pyrophobia, he _imagined_ he was _on fire,_ that is **precisely** what my toxin is _supposed_ to do!"

Jonathan sighed, averted his gaze to the floor, and shook his head.

"But when around other subjects, they're far too easily influenced by outside stimuli. I can **understand** why **one** of them may fear Joker the most-- he **is** a rather _unsettling monster_ , of sorts. But _all three_ ? What are the **chances** of that? It's ridiculous! Instead of seeing what **they** feared the most, they simply saw what **she** said **she** saw. Power of suggestion, and all that."

He wasn't done. In fact, he halfway forgot Jervis was even there, he was ranting to himself at this point.

"Don't get me wrong, mass hysteria has its uses! An entire gathering of people, feeding off of one another's terror, _wouldn't that be something?_ … Ohh, but that wasn't the result I was aiming for."

While the professor ranted, Jervis considered what was being said. Mass hysteria aside, he could see how having a group experience only one person’s fear would taint the end results. For a moment Hatter considered the idea of if there could be a way for him to simultaneously control multiple people in one go, compared to how he had to manually place each card to his victims. It was something to consider, but that would have to be for another day. His Hare was the one who was in need of brainstorming.

“Dreams are controlled by multiple areas of the brain, are they not?” Hatter asked, not waiting to hear confirmation as he was following a thought trail. “I imagine nightmares are the same. So if one were to shut down just one portion, like say, the ability to process auditory input, your fear toxin should be able to continue to work without having other subjects affect each other.”

It was then that his grin returned, as he grabbed his friend’s arm with excitement.

“Jonathan, what about suppressing the parietal lobe? That way the subjects could still feel, but not process anything outside of their own experiences. You wouldn’t be able to, ah, _talk them through it_ , as it were, but it should cause a more… _pure result_?”

Of course nothing about the tests were pure, not in one sense of the word anyhow. Tetch had meant ‘untainted by others’. But Jervis hoped his friend would understand.

Jonathan's surprise at suddenly being grabbed was quickly washed away by a look of realization.

"Suppress the-- that might actually..." Jonathan spun back around, grabbing a pencil and began jotting down more notes on one of the many sheets. "Yes, I would just have to find a chemical that could do that without interfering with the... yes..." He was muttering to himself, but when he turned back around to look at Jervis, he was smiling.

"Who needs a rubber duck when I've got a Mad Hatter? Thank you, Tetch. Truly." It felt good to be in the company of genius for a change.

Jervis Tetch felt himself growing flush from the praise, coughing into his hand to distract from it. He waved the other man’s words off, literally as well as figuratively, despite the giddiness he felt from it.

“I imagine I wouldn’t make bathtime _quite_ as fun, though.” Not evening processing how his choice of wording could be interpreted, Jervis quickly moved on.

“In any case, I’m happy to be of assistance. _By the by_ …” And here he paused again, as the inventor thought to voice another suggestion. “ While I may be currently busy, do let me know if you would be willing to experiment with other means of suppression. Outside a chemically induced one, that is. It would take some rigging… but I’m sure there _must_ be a way to use my technology to create much of the same effect. Just a thought, I would _perfectly_ _understand_ if I’m stepping on toes with the offer.”

Jonathan had been staring at the wall in front of his desk with a gaze so intense, it looked as if he was trying to melt it with his mind alone. A frown so deep it was nearly a scowl. The image of Bathtime With Jervis had lingered in his mind far too long, and he had missed a great deal of his friend's reply.

"Yes." Jonathan shook his head to clear it, so it looked as if he were saying yes while shaking his head no. "That's good, I. I would appreciate that. It will allow me to test and see if suppressing that part of the mind will yield the results I'm looking for, and. Then I can find a chemical variant later."

He waved a hand and began re-reading his notes for no discernable reason.

"Thank you for your time, feel free to return to your... machine."

Jervis had the feeling he must have said something wrong. Oh, he should have _known_ it was inappropriate to imply that his friend couldn’t figure out the chemical equivalent on his own! But… But he hadn’t _meant_ to make such a statement!

Jervis opened his mouth, wanting to apologize for any grievances he may have caused, when the professor had excused him. Tetch couldn’t help but feel like a young student again, being told to leave so as the teacher could think of a proper way of punishing him for his error. Of course, Jervis knew better. Just because Crane _had_ been an educator did not mean he would _do_ such a thing to a companion… Still, the thought had implanted itself in his mind, and the blond man couldn’t help but wilt slightly as he used the brim of his hat to hide his shame.

“Yes, of course. I’ll leave you be.”

There was no hiding it, Jervis was sulking some as he walked away and plopped back into his chair. Going back to organizing would be just the thing to distract him from his worries…. Or so he had thought. There was nothing mentally rewarding about organizing. It was a system, like stacking cards. And while it might help one see things clearly in the grand scheme of things, cards had a nasty habit of piling and piling until…

_‘At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her: she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off[...]’_

And just like cards, thoughts and worries had a nasty habit of piling and attacking as well.

It was after a while longer of trying to stay focused, when Jervis couldn’t stand it any longer. Just as the Hatter was about to open his mouth again, to plead for his friend’s forgiveness… Jervis found his imploring put on hold as he instead found himself distracted by the nasty growl his stomach gave-- as it begged for something more fulfilling than mercy.

“Oh,” Jervis said, caught up in the surprise. He looked up at Crane, who was still quite busy in his work, when he cleared his throat to catch his attention. “...Jonathan, would it be alright if we stopped working for now? It just dawned on me neither of us has had anything to eat today, and it must be…” It was then that he pulled out his pocket watch, and gawked at the time. “Half past noon! _My word_ , no wonder I’m feeling out of sorts!”

Jonathan had been busy, alright, doodling a spooky scarecrow in a field. There wasn't much more for him to do, but while in the presence of a fellow scientist, he wanted to at least appear to have a lot of work to do.

"Hm? Oh, yes." Right, food. Crane often forgot to do that, but he supposed Jervis might not be in the same habit. He stood from his chair and turned. "I think the Farmer's Market is open today... are you fine with vegetables?"

There was a small family owned diner a bit farther he'd suggest if not, but... he hoped he wouldn't have to. He'd been there once, and the atmosphere oozed a southern "charm" that had made him feel ill. He frowned, realizing this meant he'd have to change into that horrible shirt again.

Luckily for Crane, Jervis had instantly been won over by his first suggestion.

“Farmer’s Market! How frabjuous-- what a _charming_ notion! You know, I haven’t had the pleasure of going to one before?” Any sense of sadness he may have had earlier was locked up deep inside his mind-- the man’s instinct to suppress feelings he didn’t like dealing with instantly pleased with latching onto something more whimsical. Jervis continued to talk enthusiastically, as he went to grab his leather jacket from the back of his chair. “Oh, and if we’re going out, we really should get those blankets. No reason to have to double our outings if we needn’t to.”

Tetch was sure, despite the fact he was enjoying his time out and about, that it was better to lay low as much as possible. To lessen the chances of being recognized, though Jervis had to wonder how many people outside of Gotham would recognize him. As Penguin had said, it was hard to be noticed if you weren’t the likes of the Joker. And despite having a few out of place features… he was sure it was easy to overlook him. Jervis had felt in the shadows of others for most his life, after all.

His brain, on the other hand, cautioned him with the wise words of Humpty Dumpty:

 _“‘Your face is the same as everybody has—the two eyes, so—’ [...]‘nose in the middle, mouth under. It’s always the same._ **_Now_ ** _if you had the two eyes on the same side of the nose, for instance—or the mouth at the top—that would be some help.’”_

Hatter supposed he should bring his hat, then, least his face be _too noticeable_ from a more ordinary one…

Uhg, the blankets again. Jervis did have a point, though. There was no point in not getting those, too. Jonathan picked up the uncomfortably comfortable shirt from the floor, giving it a good snap to get some of the dirt and dust off from it. He turned to face away from Jervis for modesty sake before changing shirts.

"They usually have blankets at the market, but those are handmade. You'll pay three times as much for those than you'll pay for them at Margaret's."

Jonathan fidgeted for a minute before stuffing another handful of straw down his shirt. Then he grabbed a handful of cash and stuffed it into his pants pocket.

"I'll get the truck started."

Not that he'd admit it, but he was looking forward to leaving the barn again... even if it was merely to visit the farmer's market.

* * *

 

The tents glowed an almost blinding white under the early September sun, making the place easy to see from a distance away. Jonathan took a hand off the wheel to gesture to it looming in the distance.

"There it is. Is it as glorious as you'd hoped?" Just wait until he met the locals, he mused to himself. But his amusement snuffed itself out when he realized Jervis was the type to enjoy just about anyone's company. He probably would enjoy himself.

Crane’s sarcasm was answered with genuine delight.

“They use tents!” The closer the truck got, the more Jervis could see. And with it were more exclamations. “I do believe I see banners as well! It’s almost like going to a county show!” Jervis had only been to such a thing once as a child, while he was visiting his grandparents. He was afraid living in the city had prevented him from enjoying many of the smaller pleasures out of life, put he had fond memories of getting to visit and see the animals all the same.

“...I don’t suppose there would be anything like animals about, would there? I imagine it isn’t _exactly_ like a county show.” His mild disappointment at not being able to pet a rabbit was quickly brushed aside, as his grin returned. “Oh, doesn’t matter. We’re here for food, after all.”

It was, of course, the mature and sensible side of Jervis Tetch talking in that moment. That didn’t mean that, if a chance presented it to him,  that he wouldn’t take up on the offer. Jervis couldn’t help but have a soft spot for all things soft and adorable, and Crane might find his friend running across a whole parking lot merely to see a goat or some other barnyard creature. He would gladly suffer the mild teasing he’d receive for a treat like _that_.

Animals? Jonathan glanced at the man in the passenger seat from the corner of his eye. He looked genuinely excited to pet some animals. How was he a villain, again? Would Alice really have been so mistreated by him? He probably would have treated her like a queen, had she cooperated. Not that it mattered now.

It was fine. The longer the Hatter stayed in Gotham, the Madder he would become. Speaking of which... a dark chuckle escaped the ex-professor, and it was accompanied by a lopsided smirk.

"Well... I'm sure you'll find **_parts_ ** of animals here. Hunting is a pretty popular hobby around these parts." What? It was better Jervis knew what to expect. He was sure there would be plenty of animal pelts for sale, there always were.

Crane almost had to stop himself from cackling at the look of shocked horror that graced his friend’s features.

“You’re teasing me! You must be-- _this is a cruel joke to be playing on me,_ **_Jonathan_ ** _!_ ” The smirk he received, the devilish glint in the other man’s eyes told all that Jervis needed to know: Crane was speaking the truth. Tetch grew silent, a hand over his mouth as he pondered on what to say next. It wasn’t like he had a right to say people shouldn’t make a living. It was once in the parking lot that the shorter man came to a conclusion.

“Well, now I suppose I hope we **_don’t_** see any… _I think we should try making friends with vegetables and minerals_ ** _instead._** ”

"Do you usually make it a habit to eat your friends?" Jonathan replied, teasingly, as he parked and got out of the truck. He scanned the tents, and saw that most of them were selling either vegetables, fruit, or flowers. There was even a table of baked goods, that was new.

Jonathan made himself useful by grabbing one of the wicker baskets the place provided... the farmers market version of a shopping cart, honestly. He handed it out for Jervis to take, knowing full well most if not all things they purchased that day would have been the Hatter's choice.

“I don’t tend to sympathize with vegetation as much, I’m afraid. “ At this the Hatter paused again, as he thought over what he had said. “ _Better to_ **_not_ ** _tell Dr. Isley that._ I fear I may get on her bad side.”

Sometimes Jervis wondered if the botanist even had a _good_ side, she certainly was a prickly little rose in Gotham’s flowerbed. Yet, the man had seen the kind way she looked at Harley, had seen the soft spots of affection that she allowed to be known much like a pleasant passing aroma of perfume… and in a way, he was sure Harley and him shared that sort of kinship for being drawn towards those with a rare habit of dwelling with humanity.

Still, Jervis had sighed all the same.

Having been handed the basket, the shorter man thanked his companion.

“In any case, I don’t believe I’ve made enough friends over the years to even consider it a habit to start on. One needs friends before they can start **_devouring_** them.”

Cannibalism aside, it was still an amusing thought. Jervis couldn’t help but imagine the idea of his Hare pinning a little badge that would crudely read ‘eat me’ to his person. He could already hear the sarcastic bite of the professor's contemptuous tones, and it made him grin softly in the way one would see on a child that was doing their best to hold back a secret.

This, too, was swept under the metaphorical rug as Hatter was distracted by the likes of a colorful fruit stand.

“Ah! Apples!” Apples naturally became the next associated word-- apple tarts. The Hatter would need to consider stopping by the tent where baked goods were being sold. But, that was for _later_ , **_now_ ** it was probably for the best to acquire something that would actually be healthy for them. Not thinking much of his actions, far too excited from their rare occurrence of freedom, Jervis grabbed Crane’s hand as he dragged him towards the fruit stand.

Crane didn't appreciate being led around like an errant child, but also made no attempt to take his hand back until they'd reached the stand. Once there, Jervis was distracted enough for him to slip his hand away, immediately folding his arms, and looking down at the fruit. He picked one up and inspected it... yup. It was an apple.

"Nice, ainit?"

Jonathan flinched, nearly dropping the fruit in his hands, when the stand owner spoke up. He hadn't even noticed him there. A large, burly man, white beard...with a smile that was friendly enough but missing a few teeth.

"My orchard's the best around, you won't find apples fresher'n these for miles." The man peeked over the top of his sunglasses at them, his smile never wavering. "I ain't seen you two around b'fore. Always nice t'see fresh faces 'round here! You guys headed for Gotham?"

"No." Jonathan replied, perhaps a little too quickly. That was the problem with country people... they were far too friendly, in the sense they always stuck their noses where they didn't belong, and they never shut up.

Jervis, on the other hand, naturally latched onto the conversation.

“I’m afraid we’re more _passing through_ in the general sense,” He smiled his most polite smile, as he lied through his teeth with ease. “A summer vacation that has lasted well into autumn. Not that you’ll find any complaints from **_me_ **, I’ve been enjoying your American countryside and hospitality.”

Tetch had hoped leaning into the idea of them being from out of town would deflect the people of these parts from making any dire assumptions or connections on who they _really_ were.

The farmer's eyes suddenly went wide, his grin, somehow, opening even more. He pointed excitedly at Jervis, looking wildly between the two of them, as if Jervis had just told the world's most hilarious joke.

"You're one of them British folk, aintcha!" He turned his excited gaze on Jonathan. "He is, right?"

"Very. … I reckon." Jonathan replied, deadpan, despite being mildly amused.

"Yeah! I just love how everything you guys say just sounds so... fancy! I tell ya, we ain't never had any of you around here, none I ever met anyhow. Oh!" The man suddenly clapped his hands together once in his excitement, before returning to pointing at them.

"I tell ya what. Whatever you buy, I'll throw in a dozen apples, free of charge. How's that sound? Just, when y'get back over there, you tell all your friends about us, huh? We don't get nearly as many tourists as we used to, 'specially not ones like you."

How very strange it was for Jervis to find using his birthplace to manipulate others to be so rewarding. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he should have become one with the boonies sooner, especially if the people were so easy to win over. ‘ _Charm them with smiles and soap’_ , indeed!

Still, Jervis thanked the farmer for his kindness.

“Oh, _hush now_ . With such flattery bestowed, I may never leave at all!” Here Tetch punctuated his comment with a laugh. “Still, I thank you all the same, sir. I do believe we shall take you up on your _generous_ offer.”

And from there the Hatter helped himself, picking up and testing from a variety of stock. While the red delicious apples won him over with their color, Jervis couldn’t help crave a handful of granny smiths as well. There was a tartness to the fruit that couldn’t help but remind the brit of the man at his side, as he continued to chat away with the owner. From there, the salesman happily introduced the pair to the next tent’s farmer-- who was busy selling the last of their cucumbers, carrots, and watermelon.

“Now Sue, I wantcha t’take good care of these boys here. Set ‘em up good now, ya hear?”

Sue smiled at them warmly, the people here were never low on smiles, it seemed. It made Crane uneasy; smiles, more often than not, tended to hide poison behind them.

"Hiya, boys! You from out of town, I take it?"

" _Yes,_ he's _British_ , you know." Crane replied, his words dripping with sarcasm that went completely unnoticed by the woman. Sue gave a short gasp.

"He **_is,_ ** you don't say! Well, welcome to America! Let's get you some fresh produce, we're known for that 'round here."

It was easy for Crane to slip away, Sue was quite enamored by Jervis. There was no way they were going to eat all of this food before it spoiled, but free was free. Jonathan decided Jervis didn't need him there; he was charming the locals well enough on his own. He wandered aimlessly, glancing at stands without taking much interest.

"Hey! You're John, right? Jonny boy?"

Jonathan turned to see a man waving him over... Crane glanced around and then, begrudgingly, went over to see what the man wanted and, more importantly, how he knew him. He was prepared for this man to mysteriously go missing if need be.

"Yeah, you sure as shit are!" the man replied with a grin as Crane got closer. "Hey, pal! Name's Norman, I'm a friend of Margaret's, she's like, my adopted gramma, y'know?"

"Yes. She has that way about her." Jonathan replied, prompting enthusiastic nodding from Norman. The man leaned closer, over the table, and waved Jonathan even closer, glancing around as if he had a big secret to tell. Jonathan rolled his eyes, but stepped closer just the same.

 _"Hey, so, she told me about how you're,_ **_y'know_ ** _? And I know it's gotta be hard findin' others like yerself, 'specially round here. But listen."_

Like himself? What was that supposed to mean? Did they **_know_ **who they were? Had Margaret known all along? Jonathan was already contemplating plans of how to get rid of both of them.

"I got this friend, right? His brother, Billy, he's a queer, too. A good boy, 'n I think he's into older men, too! I could give you his number, if you want."

Jonathan frowned and glared, despite being relieved.

"I am not _gay."_ He replied, sternly. Norman stood back and looked Jonathan over, with his thin frame, hips jutting out to the side in a very feminine pose, arms crossed over his chest.

"You sure? Margaret said--"

"It was a **_misunderstanding_ ** . She thought **he** was a **_woman_ **, for cripes sake." Jonathan gestured toward Jervis across the way with an outstretched arm. Norman followed the gesture, and squinted. Then his brows shot up, his lips pouting out, and he shrugged.

"Well... I'd have to be real drunk but, I seen worse. Know what I mean?"

Jonathan was mortified, even as the man gave a hearty chuckle. He was offended **for** Jervis. How had this man managed to both insult and objectify Jervis all at once?

"No. I don't." Jonathan replied coldly, with a look that must have spelled murder, as Norman put his hands up and took a few steps back. That, at least, was satisfying.

"Perhaps _you_ should give Billy a call, yourself." Was his final remark before turning and quickly walking away, still mildly fuming. A fall setup caught his eye; it was a stand selling pumpkins, set atop hay bales. Dried corn stalks and hokey looking plush scarecrows were tied to the tent posts. … Well, it couldn't hurt to look.

It was over by the harvest stand that Jervis finally found his friend.

“There you are, Jonathan! I’ve been looking _all over_ for you!” Tetch’s arms were full of multiple bags by this point, half of them things he _surprisingly_ didn’t have to pay for. He was all smiles as he excitedly talked about the gifts and purchases. “I know you said we should go to Margaret’s for the blankets, but this lovely older woman offered one of her quilts. _A_ **_darling_ ** _of a thing_ with a fawn on it that I **_simply_ ** couldn’t pass up.”

Jervis’ grin slipped some as he carried on.

“ But **_then_ ** I worried about you possibly catching the death of you, while I had _my_ comfort, and so inquired if  I could procure another. I tried looking for something more your style, but I fear the spookiest creature they had was an owl. _I do so hope you won’t mind._ ”

The professor had been quiet during this whole exchange, and Jervis couldn’t help but grow worried again.

“Is everything alright? You seem…” Here Tetch paused, doing his best to find the nicest way he could put it. “Well, you certainly seem deep in thought. Am I disturbing you, perchance?”

Frivolity wasn't something Crane often took part in, but... Fall was his favorite time of year. More importantly, Halloween was his favorite day of the year. And it was quickly approaching. A part of him very badly wanted to decorate his barn with jack-o-lanterns with jagged grins, and had it still been only him and Nevar, he wouldn't have hesitated to partake in this bit of whimsy.

But they currently had another guest, one who may get the wrong idea if he allowed himself this bit of fun. Despite Jervis' love of whimsy, despite the fact the man had, not an hour before, been excited at the thought of getting to pet animals, Crane did not want to look foolish or childish in front of his colleague. He glanced over at Jervis and his impressive haul.

"Never better. Are we finished, then?"

Jervis found his head cocking to the side slightly as he looked between Crane and the pumpkins again. To him it was a bit of an odd riddle-- one almost as _ridiculous_ as ravens and writing desks sharing commonality-- as he tried to go through his mind about what the significance of a pumpkin might **_be_ ** . His mind latched onto pies, naturally. Yet,  with the fact he had to remind his Hare that food _existed_ , Jervis had his doubts that the answered lied there. It took a while, probably far longer than it should have, when it was with wide eyes that Hatter looked at the vegetation again as he thought to himself aloud.

“I think there’s just one more thing. Or two. Or several.”

And at this he came closer to the stand, his thumb lightly gracing the outside of the pumpkin’s shell, as he dared to test his theory.

“You know… I have noticed some things about the difference in our cultures over the years. Back home, some traditions aren’t as iconic or well spread. Few families _might_ engage in them, while **_others_ ** skip them entirely.” It was then Jervis threw a curious expression back at his friend. “Would you mind engaging in a fancy of mine? I never **_did_ ** have the pleasure of learning how to make a jack-o-lantern, you know.”

Giddy excitement rose up in Jonathan then, and he had to quickly push it down. He allowed the faint smile to stay, though.

"As long as you don't mind getting your hands dirty. It's messy work, you know." But he didn't allow Jervis to revoke the offer either way, immediately picking out several of their best pumpkins... paying for and carrying them happily, as Jervis' arms were already full.

That night, Jonathan discovered another of Jervis' skills; cooking. It had been a long time since Crane had had food that good, and as he would discover, it wouldn't be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Traditional done illustrations provided by the ever lovely Micaxiii once again: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	8. All That We See or Seem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the dream machine ready to be tested, Jonathan offers himself as a guinea pig. However, he'll soon learn it's more than what he bargained for, as he discovers a thing or two about his hidden desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Food tw. Uh... Steam tw? An excessive love of Edgar Allan Poe tw? (He's not Lewis Carroll, mind you, but he does have his merits. Honestly his Detective Dupin stories are the bomb. Stop reading this and instead read 'The Murders in the Rue Morgue'. It's not horror, which Crane would tell you to not bother with it, but it inspired the existence of Sherlock Holmes!)

Blankets had, indeed, been a valuable asset, as Fall marched on with a vengeance. In the couple weeks of housing with the professor, much had to be done to prepare their acquired home into something that could sustain them both. While Crane might have mentioned a few comments here and there about how Jervis needn’t worry– that the cold didn’t bother him– Hatter had seen how his Hare would shiver in frightful fits while he slumbered. So with the excuse that it was actually for himself, Jervis was able to cover walls and crevices with stuffing, and in no time at all the barn had found itself surprisingly insulated.

Jervis didn’t know when he had started thinking of it as their home, rather than being a guest, but with the notion came him furnishing as such. While he knew Jonathan had been jesting with him about the dollies and throw pillows, the Mad Hatter didn’t look his nose down at suggestions once they were offered. It was one purchase of a used couch from Margaret’s shop later, when the man had finally added the finishing touch.

“ _Now Jonathan,_ “ Tetch had teased when Crane had rolled his eyes at the additions, “ _They were your suggestion, after all._ ”

Playing house hadn’t been all of what the Hatter was busying himself with. While there was a comfort to the mundania, and he really _did_ enjoy Jonathan’s company so, Jervis never lost sight of what his plans were. And with a steady focus, the man had used his friend’s help to gain more materials for his device. And it was by the end of the second week Tetch had himself a working, if very crude, model.

“If only there was some way I could test it,” Jervis lamented one evening into his stew, as he and the professor ate dinner. “I suppose borrowing a subject or two of my own might be of _some_ assistance. Yet, I don’t know what the side effects of using both my cards and the machine at the same time would provide. It… could possibly get _severely disagreeable_.”

 **_Kidnapping_ ** was an easy charge to deal with, **_lethal negligence_ ** would be harder to dispute, one would have to imagine. Best to leave off a head count as long as it was feasible.

Hatter sighed again, as he looked at the glowing jack-o-lanterns resting on the coffee table. It didn’t provide any answers for his query, but the memory of seeing his friend dutifully carve a demonic and ghastly face onto the pumpkin was at least enough to provide _some_ small comfort.

“No, I’m sure my Red King is technically sound.” Jervis was, of course, referring to his dream machine as he took another bite of his dinner. “I may just use the timer and test the thing on myself. ‘Tis better to know beforehand if there are any troubles I may run into. “ Better than having the Bandersnatch catch him off guard.

There it was. The opening Jonathan had been waiting for. The longer Jervis worked on his machine, the more he talked about how it worked, what it could do, the more intrigued Jonathan became. The scientific discoveries it held, mysteries of the human mind revealed through forced interactions with a person’s subconscious. Did anyone truly know what they wanted most in life? They could guess, sure, but weren’t a person’s true, deepest wants and desires hidden behind walls? This machine, according to Jervis, could break through those walls.

What would Jonathan see, he found himself wondering often in those few weeks. Would he find himself in a world where the Scarecrow ruled over Gotham with an iron fist? A place where everyone not only respected him, but feared him? A world where Batman was dead? Hmmm, perhaps. Or perhaps not. That was the fascinating thing about it.

Jonathan’s bowl of stew was pushed to the side, and replaced with his elbows. His head rested on his hands as he favored the man across from him with a grin.

“If you can assure me that thing won’t scramble my brains, I’d be more than happy to test it out for you. I’ll admit I’m curious what I might see… I may even learn a thing or two about myself.”

Jervis had been busy taking another bite, when he nearly choked on his dinner. Eyes wide, the inventor blinked wildly as his brain tried to catch up to the offer.

“Are you _sure_ , Jonathan?” The question was more for formality sake, as Jervis too had pushed his meal aside– his excitement evident. “The program shares similarities to my cards, just instead of suppressing it actually does what I originally set to achieve while working at Wayne Tech. Your brain waves should merely be stimulated, _I assure you_. “

Grabbing their bowls to set along Crane’s workstation and out of the way, the Hatter talked about enthusiastically as he went to grab his machine from the other side of the room.

“ **_Do_ ** lay on the couch, won’t you? Shan’t be more than a moment to set up, love!”

Jervis, far too eager to begin his test, hadn’t noticed his choice of phrasing in the slightest.   (Words, after all, merely meant what you paid them to mean. And if the Hatter thought about it too much, he might have to give the word double the wages.)  Still, grabbing the old Macintosh computer he had procured from the junkyard, he set it near the end of the couch before running off to gather its matching headset.

Jervis had been so excited, he put aside their dinner to get right to it. Jonathan was amused, but couldn’t deny he, too, was looking forward to it.

“Careful, you’ll make Margaret jealous.” Jonathan teased, as she was the only other person he had heard Jervis call that. But he did as he was told, standing from his chair to sit and then recline on the couch, staring up at the barn ceiling. His fingers twiddled anxiously on his stomach while he waited.

 _You’re really just going to hand your mind over to the likes of the Mad Hatter? You’re putting yourself in danger, you’re putting us_ **_both_ ** _in danger._

“Oh, have some faith in friendship, would you?” Jonathan muttered to the mask hanging on the wall across the way. He said this completely in sarcastic jest. He knew full well this was likely a poor decision… but really, he had faith in Jervis’ abilities. He’d seen those cards in action. And it wasn’t even likely that Jervis would purposely use this to do him in. He slept next to the man every night, and Jonathan had yet to learn how to sleep with one eye open. If Jervis had wanted him gone… he certainly wouldn’t be alive now to offer himself up as a lab rat.

Tetch, however, had been too busy to pay attention to his friend’s pestering. Nor his quiet mutterings, for that matter. It wasn’t long before Jervis returned, happy to see his friend had followed his instructions.

“Here, do put this on,” the inventor ordered about, his excitement having made him forget his manners. Jervis placed himself onto the floor, plugging cords into homemade outlets, then typing away on the keyboard. The man was halfway finished, when he remembered himself, and thought it only polite to let his Hare in.

“As I mentioned, I set the timer to turn off the machine after half an hour. Unfortunately, considering who the Red King is for, I haven’t prepared any other fail safe outside of that. I thought about working in a blood pressure system, just in case, but…” Here he paused to smile. “I figured Batman giving himself a heart attack might not be the worst of possible outcomes. Still! I’ll be monitoring your state of sleep, and will be able to shut everything down should anything happen before the set time. You’re in safe hands, I assure you!”

Confidence in his own abilities aside… still, Jervis couldn’t help but have _some_ worries. Harming Crane was pretty high up there on his list of things that were _sure_ to upset him.

Fingers hovering over the start button, the Mad Hatter gave a final look to his Hare.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” Crane replied, closing his eyes and preparing for whatever may come. When what seemed like minutes passed by and nothing happened, Jonathan frowned. “Is there a pr–” He opened his eyes and realized he was no longer looking up at a barn ceiling, but the ceiling of a house. He sat up, and looked around… he was no longer on a couch. He was on a bed.

“Incredible…” Jonathan breathed. This place, it… it looked so… real. He did not feel like he was dreaming. He looked down at the bed, and ran a hand over the silken sheets. They felt real. Very real. The pajamas he wore were just as silken, and felt every bit as real. He slid out of bed to feel the rug beneath his feet, every fiber. He had a moment of wondering if… perhaps… his life of crime had been the bad dream, and this was reality. He suddenly felt very disoriented at the notion, and how somehow believable it felt.

The curtains on the wall glowed bright as it shielded the room from the sun outside. Jonathan opened the curtains, and peered out on the city of Gotham. The room was filled with light, and he marveled at how pristine the sunlight cast across the walls of the room. He also noticed the walls were adorned with his diploma, his degrees, multiple awards… he wandered over to them, in a sort of daze, and plucked one off the wall, gazing down at it, wistfully. The words were difficult to read, confirming for certain this was, indeed, a simulation. It was still impressive in every meaning of the world. Jonathan smiled, almost sadly.

“A world where I was never fired. A world where I was never cast as a monster at all. I would not have guessed this.”

**_You haven’t gotten rid of me! I will always be a part of you. Fool._ **

“I should hope so. But in this world, no one knows you exist, I imagine. Tell me, how does that make you feel?” Jonathan chuckled to himself, and Scarecrow didn’t respond. Jonathan, feeling in better spirits, more at peace with things than he had in a long while, actually began to hum as he headed for the door and down the stairs… he was sure he had work to get ready for.

Crane continued down the stairs of his elaborate dream home, finding amusement in many of the frivolous trinkets and pictures along the way. The professor had always assumed, based on how he chose to live back when he was on the University’s salary, that his ideal would be to remain minimalist. But in contrast, it seemed his subconscious greatly desired comfort. One could also take the mind’s need for word play, and say that he wanted to ‘fill’ and ‘flesh out’ parts of his life and personality that he may have found lacking. Interesting thoughts, to be sure, but maybe one didn’t need to take the analysis of the dream to mean too much. There was a human nature to want to surround themselves with pleasing sights. Crane had never been one to engage in it before, but he had recently learned that he could… _tolerate_ such things.

Jonathan should have known, seeing how his sense of sight and touch were fully operational, that his other senses would equally be stimulated. And yet, he couldn’t help when he was surprised by the heavy scent of coffee and food that filled the air. Curiosity struck, he followed where it led him before he made his way into what he assumed was the kitchen of his home.

Crane instantly froze in the doorway when he realized there was also humming of another… Humming that was coming from someone he recognized. Jervis stood by the stove, a large plate of pancakes and other breakfast treats on the kitchen counter next to him as the man supposedly was finishing the preparations of a meal.

A meal for him.

“Oh!” Jervis cried out in surprise, as he turned around, bacon frying in the pan in his hands. “You startled me, I wasn’t sure I heard you! Please, sit love. Your breakfast is almost complete.”

Jonathan stared… there was a lot to unpack here. His first thought was Jervis had joined him in dream land, for study purposes. But from what he understood, the device didn’t work that way. Which meant this Jervis was completely a figment of his own, deepest desires.

_How strange._

But was it really? He had been enjoying Jervis’ company at the barn, surprisingly. Jervis provided company, intelligent conversation, the comfort of safety in numbers, a valuable work assistant, and… food. And what was a happy life without friends? Was it really any wonder Jervis had managed to embed himself into what Jonathan considered a comfortable life?

Jonathan slowly sat at the table, eyes never leaving the man making him breakfast suspiciously, and continued to think.

No, perhaps not, but it **was** worrying. Jervis wasn’t only _visiting_ , he **lived** here, as was evident by the many things that were very much not Crane’s style. Jonathan had allowed himself to grow so accustomed to sharing a space with someone who treated him like a person, Jervis had managed to become an integral part of what he perceived comfort and happiness to be. Apparently.

But Jervis wouldn’t be there forever. He would move on eventually, find his own place, and take so much more than his furniture and blankets with him when he left. Jonathan was setting himself up for being hurt, perhaps very badly. But he didn’t dwell in sorrow or anger, no, he had no time for that. He had to start thinking of a way to get Jervis out of his life after this little experiment. Companionship wasn’t worth being so vulnerable, and he’d been a fool not to see that. He was thankful to have been shown this worrying problem, festering in his subconscious, though. This was definitely a handy invention.

And speaking of which, this was still Jonathan’s ideal world, and for now, he was going to enjoy it. He realized he’d been staring at Jervis as if he was a fascinating scientific discovery.

“Jervis, forgive me, my mind’s in a bit of a fog this morning. I work today, yes? … At the school?”

Dream Jervis, who was busy setting out the table and pouring Jonathan a cup of coffee, blinked in that curious way the real man tended to. His confusion turned to worry, as Jervis brushed the bangs out of Jonathan’s face and placed the back of his hand on his forehead.

“No fever, so I imagine you must have been staying up late again. I _really_ wish you would keep a better sleep schedule.” At this Jervis tutted. “Yes dear, you have morning classes. As far as I’m aware, the asylum hasn’t required you to help assist with any of their current cases.”

At this the figment paused, puzzlement crossing his features.

“…I’m second guessing myself, now. Let me confide in the calendar. _Do_ eat up before it gets cold. They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know.”

Walking over towards the fridge, Tetch leaned to look at a calendar that was attached to the fridge with a magnet. The professor momentarily wondered the importance of the empty cornfield as its illustration, while dream Jervis sighed in relief.

“Ah, yes, I was correct. Only classes, love. _Thank heavens_ , that means we’ll be able to enjoy the evening together.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Crane replied, distractedly, cutting a piece of pancake and inspecting it. Would he be able to taste it? Should he eat the entire thing, would he feel full? Surely not… but the thought was intriguing.

He shook his head in awe and disbelief as he chewed. The taste, the texture, it was all there. This level of sensory stimulation, the very implications, it was just…

“Incredible.” Crane said, for the second time that day. “Tetch, you are a genius among fools!”

Dream Jervis smiled, but waved him off modestly. “Oh Jonathan, it’s only _pancakes._ ”

“Pancakes, indeed.” Jonathan regarded the imaginary plate of food with a look of impressed awe, and stood from the table. “I should get dressed, I suppose; it won’t do anyone any good if the teacher is tardy.”

Jervis hummed cheerfully in reply, and Crane went upstairs to change, returning shortly. It felt nice to be wearing proper clothes again.

“I’m off, then.” Jonathan called out before turning toward the door to leave– only to jump when Jervis was behind him, smiling at him between him and the door. Jervis wasted no time in placing his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders, standing on his toes to place a quick smooch on Jonathan’s cheek.

“Goodbye, my love, _until we meet again_.”

Jonathan scowled, wiping the kiss from his cheek with his sleeve, watching Jervis walk away, humming to himself.

“Yes… be seeing you…” he mumbled. Once out the door, he glared at the sky, although really, he was talking to himself… his real self. “Oh come on, he isn’t **_that_ **strange!” he scolded, mildly annoyed he apparently had such a loose grasp on who Jervis Tetch was.

* * *

 

“For instance, this loaded gun…” A chorus of frightened gasps rose up from the students, and Crane smiled wickedly, his hand still inside the paper bag. He pulled his hand back out, and a few of the students actually flinched.

“ _Just kidding_.” He sang, revealing a young crow perched on his hand instead. The students laughed and clapped as it took off and flew around the room.

“ _My point,_ however…” Jonathan continued, turned to face the blackboard. “Is that the fear of the unknown is prevalent in us all, the fear of the what if. It’s a primal fear that’s kept us alive this long, hm?”

Jonathan glanced at the clock, and although the numbers were mildly skewed, he could tell class was nearly at an end. He turned back to them. “It’s time for me to assign your homework for the week.” He heard a few groans and sighs, but this was expected.

“Halloween is fast approaching, and what better an occasion to devote to the emotion of fear?” Now he had their intrigue. “I want you all to make your own Halloween costume, and wear it to class. Remember there are things much more terrifying than death or disease.” The bell rang, and the students began filing out. “You will be graded on creativity before skill, so just have fun with it.” He told them as they left.

One student, however, stayed behind. Waiting for the crowd of fellow classmates to leave, the young lady– who Jonathan supposed reminded him a lot of a young. Dr. Quinnzel back when she was one of his students– stopped by his desk as Crane continued to gather his papers.

“Still using the ol’ gun gag, Professah? Don’tcha think it’s gonna get old one of these days? Somebody might end up takin’ that as a real threat, an’ maybe blackmail y’fer a better grade.”

It did Jonathan’s heart good to see students so ready and willing to learn again. _So what_ if this was all make believe? He felt at home here. He supposed that was the entire point of the program… you weren’t _supposed to_ want to leave.

He took in her cheerful, teasing expression and he chuckled. “ _My dear child_ , if one of my students manage to _frighten me_ with something like _blackmail_ **,** I’d say they fully **deserve** a better grade.”

“Ha!” The young NOT-Harley laughed, slapping her own side at the man’s joke. “I’ll be sure t’keep that in mind, with exams comin’ up n’ all.”

By this point both student and teacher were distracted by a solid and polite knock at the door. There was Dream Jervis, waiting patiently for his moment to speak.

“ _Knock knock_.”

“I’d say, _‘who’s there_ ’, but I’d know that smile anywhere!” The Harley-look-alike said enthusiastically. “ Good aftahnoon, Mr. Tetch! Here t’steal your hubby away fer lunch?”

Crane had assumed the woman was razzing him, making fun of an apparently well known friendship. He was more surprised when Jervis response was as if it was the most natural statement in the world.

“Mmm, yes. If neither of you would mind. Dr. Cates gave me enough time for a proper lunch break, and I know your professor well enough that he’ll skip his meal if given the chance.”

 _“Hubby?_ ” Jonathan repeated with a bewildered scowl. He turned his gaze down at his desk, where his hands spread out across its surface. There was a golden band on his finger that most certainly hadn’t been there before.

“ _Ohhh no. No no no no_ .” Crane was slowly shaking his head. This dream had quickly turned into a nightmare. Something was wrong. **Everything** was wrong. It crossed his mind to force himself to wake up, to let Jervis know his machine was flawed, but… but what if he **went** on this little … _date_ ? Dreams were very rarely literal. Jervis **_had_ ** been playing the metaphorical house wife in his life, perhaps his dreaming subconscious had simply twisted that relationship into one more recognizable. Yes, of course. That sounded more believable. But he would never know if he left now. He stood and quickly made his way to the door, in a hurry to get to the bottom of this misunderstanding.

“If you’ll excuse us.” He nodded politely at his student. “I’ll see you tomorrow, enjoy your evening.” With a hand on Dream Jervis’ back, he hurried down the hall with his _supposed husband._

There were other questions Jonathan had, mostly the logistics of how much the program dealt with rationality. Would there be an explanation on how Jervis had gotten there in the first place, especially if they were both now heading towards his old volvo waiting in Gotham University’s parking lot? Would it be strange to even ask, considering this was supposedly a common occurrence?

Once in the car, Jonathan decided to ask his next question as reasonably as he could.

“Have you decided on what we’re having for lunch?”

His **alleged** **husband** only smiled at him cheekily.

“Is this the part where you have me list off my suggestions only for you to turn them all down, and decide on going to Mel’s like we **_always_ ** do?”

Now _that_ was a restaurant Crane hadn’t thought of in a long time, long enough that he was surprised he had even recalled it at all.

“ _Is that dump still around?_ ” The old couple that ran the restaurant back when he was a professor should have surely been dead by that point. Still… he did remember liking their food.

Dream Jervis must have thought Crane was kidding, as he merely sighed indignantly.

“ _Really, Jonathan!_ After how much they dote on you, you could at least **_pretend_ **to like their company.”

“They never **_doted_ ** on me… do I have some deep-rooted desire to be _doted upon_?” Jonathan asked aloud, almost offended by his own apparent desires, completely ignoring the fact he wasn’t sitting there alone. Dream Jervis was giving him a concerned, puzzled look.

“You’ve been feeling out of sorts all day, haven’t you? Poor thing.”

“Yes. But I’ll live. Is Mel’s alright, then?”

“It always is… but are you certain you’re feeling up to it?”

“Yes. I’m famished.” This was a lie. The last thing Jonathan felt like doing was eating, and that hadn’t changed by the time they’d gotten there. But he did have a lot of questions, and he didn’t know how long he had before his time was up.

Jonathan’s fingers drummed on the table at which the two of them sat. So many questions to ask, he didn’t even know where to start. But if his mind really wanted to play this game, casting Jervis as his wife for some twisted joke, then fine. He would try and break its logic, free him from this nightmare, pull back the curtain, he would see through the lies.

If they’d never been criminals at all, how would they even have met?

“Jervis…”

“Hmmm?” Dream Jervis hummed, peeking over the menu he’d been looking at.

“I’ll admit, I’ve felt… _out of sorts_ , as you put it. Would you mind, _lifting my spirits_ by retelling the tale of how well… um. Fell in love?”

Oh. Uhg. Those words had felt wrong in his mouth.

At this his husband put down his menu as he cocked his head to the side.

“Now that certainly is an _odd_ request. You’ve never wanted to wax nostalgically before.” Still, this Jervis must have had some pity for the man, as he crossed his hands politely over his menu. He hummed for a moment, as he contemplated where to begin.

“Well, I would like to think– in a sort of poetic sense– it began when we met at the bookshop. You were picking up something by _Lovecraft,_ “ here the man shook his head in a way that spoke of disdain– Crane couldn’t say he blamed him. Racism aside, the author’s fears were _laughably simple_ . Still, Dream Jervis went on. “And **_I_ ** was there picking up a replacement annotated ‘Snark’. You had accidentally bumped into me, our books clambering to the floor, when we locked eyes. Here I was, readying my own apology, when you _ever so_ **_eloquently_ ** _inquired_ : ‘Isn’t he a children’s author?’”

Crane smirked, he could easily imagine the sarcastic remark he would have used to cover his own embarrassment. He had enough self awareness for **_that_ **. Still, this left him curious…

“Surely you didn’t let that stand? Letting _some stranger_ insult your beloved Carroll.”

“Indeed! The audacity of it! Well, there I was, in a huff, telling you all the reasons why Reverend Dodgeson was an innovator in his field of writing, when I noticed that dull expression on your face. I could tell in that moment you literally hadn’t the slightest interest! Most likely having been undressing all my insecurities all the while!”

“Mmm, sounds like I was the most unpleasant of company.” Crane added, amused.

This certainly sounded nothing close to their actual introduction. Then again, Crane supposed the only reason he had shown any interest in the man to begin with was because of the story he read from the papers. No man simply woke up one morning and decided to use mind control to reenact his favorite story. Yet had Jervis been some ordinary Joe Smoe like in this fantasy, it made sense for him not to have cared much otherwise.

Tetch, meanwhile, was shaking his head.

“You certainly weren’t! Well, by that point I was in quite a tizzy. Upset that you hadn’t took a **_thing_ ** I said seriously…” Here Dream Jervis sighed into his hand, clearly with humiliation. “Oh, it really was childish of me. But you **_had_ ** gone and attacked Carroll, and so I thought it only fair I should return the favor. SO, with all the gumption I could muster, as you started turning your back on me to walk away, I cried: _‘I should_ **_think_ ** _one would have a better use for their time than insulting a stranger,_ **_especially_ ** _when you could be finding better reading material_ **_yourself_ ** _! That_ **_man_ ** _merely_ **_cries wolf_ ** _at all he holds in_ **_contempt_ **!’”

At this Jervis had waved his spoon about to punctuate his words, his tea long since forgotten. Crane was going to ask him what happened next, when Tetch sighed again– this time looking at him with such fondness that he didn’t feel deserved after everything said.

“I had honestly thought that would have been the last of that, you know. That you would have just continued to walk away, letting me feel ridiculous yelling among the books, when you instead turned around, eyes wide, and asked: ‘You’ve read his work?’ I was about to respond ‘unfortunately’ when you beat me to the punch and began going on, in your wild excitement, all your complaints you had about him too.”

“So I have **books** to thank for our… _relationship_.” Jonathan sat leaning on arms crossed over one another on the table. It was amusing and fascinating to listen to himself tell him a made up story about how he would have fallen in love with this man, had neither of them ever been criminalized for their genius. He was enjoying watching his subconscious mind try and explain its odd casting choice.

“Well it wasn’t _only_ books. we– you’re not really going to sit there and make me recount the entire thing, are you? _You were_ **_there_ ** _for it, you know.”_

“I seem to have been afflicted with a terrible case of amnesia just now.” Jonathan gave a shrug, before smirking at the man across from him. “You wouldn’t deny me the story of how we fell _madly in love_ , now would you?”

Dream Jervis was just as much fun to tease as the real one, Jonathan had discovered.

Crane’s figment of a husband was just about to answer him– a pout on his lips and no doubt an unruly huff to follow– when they were interrupted by the waitress inquiring their orders. Crane remained as silent as he could– food held no interest to him when there were answers to be had! Still, Jervis at least provided him the kindness of ordering lunch for the both of them. And as the woman walked away, Crane instantly got them back on track.

“Well?”

“Oh, of all such nonsense; If you’re going to be **_insistent_ ** about it–”

“ **_I am_ ** **.** ”

“ _Then I will just have to go on I suppose_ .” Here Dream Jervis had continued as if Crane hadn’t said a thing.”Well, there was the mutual complaining– _least you’ve forgotten that already._ However, lamentably my earlier outburst had gotten the owner’s attention. And from there we were both kicked out, neither of our books we came for bought. You were in such good spirits, _despite the shared humiliation_ , that you then offered to buy me a drink in order to continue our literary discussion. Coffee, tea, and an hour of talk later, we had come to realize we both shared plenty of other interests. And of course there was the discovery of our similar fields…”

“You **_do_ ** have a way of surprising people with your talents.” Crane found himself agreeing, even if he couldn’t help the lilt of sarcasm that followed it. Jervis was yet again giving him an affectionate look– one that made the professor’s insides squirm in a warm yet uncomfortable way– when the man finally chose to speak.

“The feeling is very much mutual. Though, I suppose I’ve never been one to hide that. ‘ _To while away—forbidden things/My heart would feel to be a crime/Unless it trembled with the strings._ ’”

It was Crane’s turn to blink, as he recognized the words to belong to Poe. While he would have pondered his brain’s interest in referencing a poem that used a lot of bird imagery– he couldn’t help wonder if there was a mocking tone to the notion– it was in the same breathe that he recollected its actual meaning. It was the very thing he wanted answers to, the title of the piece: romance.

“ _’I have no time for idle cares’_..” Crane couldn’t help but quote back, his surprise very evident. Was this his mind substituting for Tetch’s need to quote Alice? By replacing it with something he HAD read? Crane didn’t get the chance to question for long, as Dream Jervis laughed softly at his reaction.

“So you said then, too. But I have always been a man of fancy, it seems– chasing the impossible. It seemed only natural to find myself wanting a companion who willingly treated me as his equal. Yet.” Here the man paused, as he busied himself with stirring his tea. “I never did mean to fall for you, I knew where you stood on romance as a whole. You were quick to mention your distaste whenever the subject came up in our literary discussions. But…”

Crane felt himself drawn in, despite his better judgement.

“ _…But?_ ”

“The line of friendship and love is too easy to blur sometimes.” Dream Jervis chose this moment to lock eyes with him, causing Crane to feel like a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic. “I’ve always admired you,” Tetch admitted as if it was fact. “But sitting in your class one day as I had stopped by early for our luncheon, I was stopped dead in my tracks. The enthusiasm you held for your work, the power you commanded in your element… I began to find myself looking at you with new eyes. You were…. You were _breathtaking_ , Jonathan.”

Jonathan, despite his earlier amusement, had to admit one thing; his subconscious had successfully told him a story that made him believe he loved this man. This, version, of this man, of course. But who knew what would warm Jonathan’s cold heart better than himself? Of course a significant other created by his own mind would say all the right things.

In that moment, Crane decided… why _not_ play along? No one would ever _know_ , and there were no _consequences_ . And, yes, it was _strange_ and _uncomfortable_ to be dating his friend and colleague, but he certainly didn’t mind sharing his time with someone so obviously smitten with him. It would be good for his ego, he decided.

And his amusement.

He found himself wondering if **this** Jervis gave out on the second date, and then immediately buried the thought, realizing it wasn’t nearly as funny as he thought it would be, and that he really didn’t want to think about that particular detail of their imaginary relationship.

Jonathan sighed wistfully, and dramatically. “And with words so sweet, it’s no wonder you managed to convince this stubborn fool to give love a chance.” Jonathan smirked and, with the Scarecrow screaming at him not to, he reached across the table to place a hand on top of Jervis’.

“Thank you, Jervis. I’m feeling much better suddenly.”

What shocked Crane was the look of surprise on the figment’s face, before it was replaced with one of loving adoration. Dream Jervis shyly placed a hand on top of his own, giving it the faintest of squeezes.

“If I had known spouting sentimentality would get public affection for a change, _I might have done so sooner._ ” At this his imaginary husband looked away bashfully– and Crane allowed himself to admit this too was appealing in a way. Dream Jervis then retrieved his hand to cover his mouth, no doubt wanting to hide the grin the professor saw peaking out.

“Now, _if you truly_ **_are_ ** _feeling better_ , **do** tell me how class went today. I’m afraid you’ve left me flustered, and I don’t think I have the wits to handle it.”

This was a side of Jervis Tetch that Jonathan had never truly seen before… that he could recall. He’d seen the man wallowing in self-pity, he’d seen him lost in his Wonderland, he’d even seen the dangerous rage that, occasionally, blazed behind those cool blue eyes. But this? He supposed his mind had simply taken Jervis’ bashful reactions to being complimented, another side of Tetch he’d seen, and intensified it tenfold, to get this; a man in love.

This must have been a side that only Allison had ever seen, Jonathan thought to himself, bitterly. Some women had no taste. … Or perhaps she’d simply been too young and foolish to appreciate it. This line of thought was troubling, and Jonathan had to stop and remind himself that this wasn’t Jervis; this was his mind’s assumptions and knowledge of what he considered the most attractive in a person, combined to project this likely inaccurate facsimile.

“I have a bright batch this time.” Jonathan replied, with a sigh. “So eager to learn. There is nothing more satisfying than seeing the lights come on behind. a young student’s eyes.”

 **_You used to feel that way about fear_ ** … Was Scarecrow _pouting_?

“I thought I’d be a little _whimsical_ this week… _I suppose you’re rubbing off on me._ I told them to create a truly frightening Halloween costume, and wear it to class.” He punctuated this with an amused, but slightly dark chuckle. “I look forward to seeing what their young minds consider to be… ‘ _truly frightening.’_ ”

“I fear for their grades, then.” Jervis joked back, having found himself more composed. “Will **_any_ ** of them pass such a daunting assignment? You **_do_ ** so have a strict criteria for all things horror.”

“Mmm, perhaps.” Crane agreed, smirking as he decided to fight dirty. “Though I at least have faith in their creativity for the macabre compared to you. Haemophobia is so **_common place_ **.”

At this the figment bristled in the way that sent sadistic glee throughout the professor. Crane’s smile only grew as Dream Jervis attempted to defend himself.

“Don’t you start that **_again_** – it’s quite rational to be… **_upset_** _–”_ Here the word was punctuated with a comical nod as the man seemed satisfied that it was the word he wanted to use. _“_ Yes, **_upset_** when important bodily fluids are leaking about!”

“Rational, yes. But ordinarily simple? **_Lamentably_ ** so. You’d think I’d want a partner at least **_worth_ ** the time cracking.”

Of course, even as Crane said all of this, this was only his working theory on the man. The real Tetch seemed to be full of things that made him uncomfortable, but his avoidance of killing things did make one wonder. The thought of finding a dead animal to showcase to his friend in the waking world also crossed his mind, just to see the fit he’d throw.

Still, Dream Jervis sighed at the mockery. And the man yet again had fortune on his side as lunch finally arrived.

Crane absentmindedly poked at his fried chicken with his fork, deciding to drop the teasing for now and let Jervis enjoy his chicken salad. He glanced over the restaurant, at the other people sitting there, conversing, sharing their lives together. All so quaint, so… _mundane._

Was this really what his deepest wants and desires consisted of? He still got to teach, he even, apparently, worked at the asylum occasionally. He lived comfortably in a home he shared with a loving significant other. He was revered, rather than feared, which was, perhaps, the true reason he wanted to be feared in the first place. Perhaps he didn’t want to be feared at all, but _respected._ Was there really much of a difference? Self-analysis aside, this really did seem like the perfect existence.

But this domestic, everyday life style stood in stark contrast against the wild unpredictability of being a lawless rogue. Hadn’t he enjoyed haunting the streets of Gotham at all? Had it not been fun in the slightest sense, taking over a place and slipping away unnoticed and unpunished, with the Mad Hatter? Or had he, too, been merely following a path he’d begun so foolishly in the first place?

Were they still the people they’d always been? Or had they lost a part of themselves somewhere along the way? … A ridiculous thought. **They** hadn’t changed _one bit_ , because **this** version of _they_ didn’t exist. Crane had to dig around until he found the actual question. If this Jonathan Crane wasn’t out being a specter of Gotham’s nightmares for fun… what _did_ he do for fun?

“Curious thought…” He began. “What’s been the most fun you can remember us having in the past, oh say, three months?”

Dream Jervis had been halfway through his sandwich, when he nearly choked on his bite. A confusing reaction, especially with the blush that followed.

“ _Jonathan!_ ” His husband had cried out in mortification, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “If this is your way to get me to... _to openly discuss other aspects of our_ **_relationship_ ** \--” Here Dream Jervis somehow put emphasis on the term in a way that made his voice quitter-- as the man hid his mouth from prying eyes, as if anybody else cared about their conversation. “Please **_behave_ ** yourself. I’ve played along with your games so far because you’ve been so out of sorts. But people might **_hear_ ** your teasing and think we’re **_deviants_ **.”

“So we _do that_ , then.” Crane muttered.

He lamented at not being able to enjoy Jervis’ flustered reaction. Between this, and the dreams he’d filed away as nightmares, Jonathan was beginning to think he’d have to admit to himself that he might, on some primal level, want to engage in coitus with his partner in crime. He took this realization surprisingly well. It was a desire he hadn’t experienced since he, himself, was a student… and, just like then, he’d chosen a rather inconvenient target for his… _affections._ Admittedly, these carnal desires weren’t **nearly** as alarming, _as worrying_ , as the possibility he wanted to _marry_ the man.

“I wasn’t speaking of that at all, if I’m being honest.” Jonathan gave a shrug, and then a sly smirk splayed across his face. “But how _flattering it is_ to know, when I mention **fun** , your mind _instantly_ jumps to **that** . _Perhaps you truly are my little deviant._ ” He raised a brow and regarded the flustered man across from him with a darkly flirtatious look.

Jonathan had a feeling he was going to be sleeping on the couch that night, but he was having fun… and he doubted he’d be in this dream long enough for it to matter _where_ this hypothetical story went.

Crane had started to think that maybe he really had upset his fake husband, as the man sat quietly across from him as he took a few more bites of his meal. Most of it had been devoured, when Dream Jervis signaled for their check to be brought.

Jonathan had to admit, he was very intrigued by the intensity he felt with the silence. On one hand, this situation seemed very similar to the time Tetch had his **_episode_ ** over Alice. The air heavy with the notion and tight coiling feeling that something was going to **_snap_ ** and **_break_ ** . If it weren’t for the fact Jervis didn’t have his delusional look about him-- _not a single splitting grin to be found_ \-- Crane would have maybe considered being concerned. But this was his **_fantasy_ ** , wasn’t it? His dream? Knowing his own history, he knew pain wasn’t on his list of experiences that pleased him. Oh, that **_would_ ** have been just the icing on the cake if he were to find out he had a **_fatalistic tendency_ ** lurking inside him!

The intensity continued to swell, and with it Crane’s own anxieties. Finally, once the two made it to the parking lot of the restaurant-- it’s location hidden from the streets as it was attached to an alleyway-- Jonathan decided it was time for him to take charge of the situation.

“Jervis…” They had made it to the car, each on their respective sides, when Crane finally dared to speak. “If I said anything to upset you, I **_apologize_ **. I should have respected your boundaries on the subject.”

At this his figment continued to look at him with that same fierce intensity, door open, as he let out a shaky sigh.

“Jonathan… _please get in the car._ ”

Jonathan suddenly felt a sinking dread that something had gone wrong with the program. He definitely didn’t enjoy Jervis being this angry with him, even if it _was_ only make believe. This wasn’t his fantasy at all! Had Crane accidentally broken it from the inside? Would he be trapped here forever?

He managed to keep his worry and anxiety under control as he sat behind the wheel and closed the door. Staring straight ahead as Jervis sat and slammed his own door closed. Jonathan knew he couldn’t stand letting the heavy silence fill the car all the way home. He sighed, turned to Dream Jervis, and opened his mouth to try another apology…

Jonathan held back his yelp of surprise when Jervis’ hand shot out and grabbed him by his tie, yanking him down and forward until they were face to face. Now that he was staring right into those icy blue eyes, Jonathan suddenly recognized that intense look for what it truly was, and his breath caught in his chest as a shiver shot down his spine. _Oh._

And like that, the fantasy version of his friend was upon him– hungrily devouring his lips. Crane couldn’t help the shudder that went through him– his senses ablaze with use. He could feel this dream _touching_ him, **_tasting_ ** him. Even the strong scent of floral soap that hung on Jervis’ skin was _there_ and _so very_ **_real_ ** . Everything was _too much._ Too much for his poor abandoned and forgotten senses to uphold.

Crane found his fingers clawing into the fabric of Jervis’ sweater, as the figment’s fingers latched onto his scalp, digging and tugging in a way that made the professor gasp.

Dream Jervis had used this time to start nipping at his neck, as Crane tried his best to find himself.

“Jervis… _this isn’t_ **_real_ ** .” He pleaded with rationality, even as his own body craved to lose itself to the fantasy. “ _This is just a creation of my mind._ ”

“ **_Jonathan._ **” And here the man shuddered as he could feel his name, heated and moist, moaned against his neck.

“It’s all but a dream within a dream!” Crane croaked, hating how his brain could be so cruel to give him an agonizing torture that his mind  was weak to fight. His life had been nothing but cruelty, and here his desires wished to hurt him all the same by giving him a taste of what he **_couldn’t_ ** have. What he **_shouldn’t_ **have.

 _Would not, could not.._.

The real Jervis Tetch would have been **_so proud_ ** that Jonathan actually remembered a Carroll quote for a change.

As if sensing that the man was daring to think of the authentic article, Dream Jervis had used Crane’s inability to keep himself together to trail his heated kisses down towards his collar– having successfully loosened his tie and exposed the skin that hid there.

“ _Jonathan…_ ” What? What could the man possibly want in a time like this? Couldn’t he see he was busy **_hating_ ** his existence? “ **_Jonathan…._ **”

“ **_What?_ ** ” Crane asked desperately. What more could be said? He was slipping, drowning. Self hate swirled together with his desperate need to be **_held_ ** , to be **_touched_ ** . To have his very being taken by the only human he had ever **_dared_ ** to let close.

And like that, like a cold splash of water against his heated self, he broke through the fog that had clouded his being.

**_“Jonathan, it’s time to wake up.”_ **

* * *

 

Jonathan opened his eyes and stared up at the barn ceiling, miserably. He squirmed uncomfortably against the couch beneath him, and glanced down to make sure he hadn’t gotten _noticeably_ excited. He hadn’t. He let his head fall back against the couch cushion and let out the rest of his pent up passion in a long, shaking sigh.

“Congratulations, Tetch. I’d say your device works perfectly. Everything looked, felt, tasted, _smelled so real_ . If I’d not known any better, I’d have never _guessed_ it was but a dream.”

He was giving his report while laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling, as he really wasn’t sure he could handle looking to Jervis in that moment. He feared the shame might eat him alive if he did.

“I was **_teaching_** again! People _revered us_ for our genius, rather than _criminalizing_ us for it.” He paused, and added, in a more curious than excited tone, “I was even _married_. I didn’t even know I **wanted** _that._ ” He held up his hands to see there was no ring there. Thank Heavens. He finally sat up, removing the helmet and running a hand through his hair, still not looking directly at his fellow scientist.

“Although I have trouble believing I’d truly desire such a… _mundane existence_.”

Jervis– the very much real one– had been keeping his eyes intently on his friend. Outside of the clear signs of R.E.M having taken place, Crane’s sleep had been uneventful. Which was what the Red King was supposed to do– while it was designed with Batman in mind, the Mad Hatter was genuine when he meant he wanted it to be a peaceful existence. Still, watching his Hare sleep had been maddening in its own way. Jonathan had looked… surprisingly vulnerable, with his face muscles relax and not twisted in a scowl.

All the same, Jervis was happy to see his friend not only up, but cognitive! The Mad Hatter had remained silent, as the professor retold him the events of his dreams. Even he admitted to surprise that Crane would have allowed himself a spouse– having assumed he would have much preferred his bachelor lifestyle. Still, Jervis supposed, it was pleasant to know that even a man of solitude such as him could feel the desire to be loved. It made him feel… more tangible, in that sense.

At hearing the last bit of Jonathan’s observations, this was where the Mad Hatter perked up.

“Oh, _you couldn’t’ve helped that_ , you know. While I have no control of what the dreamer dreams, the program is supposed to encourage a safer alternative lifestyle. Batman would **_want_ ** to destroy his fairy-land at every turn if I hadn’t thought of such a fail safe– his nature is to destroy his own happiness, _I’m_ **_sure_ ** _of it._ That, or he may accidentally off himself with his **_need for speed_ ** , and then he’d be awake once more.” Here Jervis sighed dramatically. “ _And that would have made all this hard work for naught_!”

Dramatics aside, he gave his hare a worried look.

“How do you feel, otherwise? You’d let me know if I had accidentally done something to harm you, wouldn’t you?” Success or not, Jonathan’s well being came first. “Here, let me fetch you a glass of water.”

Jonathan was nodding slowly. Yes, that certainly explained a few things. And was a brilliant fail safe, honestly. He found himself wondering if he, himself, would have thought of that.

“My mind certainly **_feels_ ** intact. I’m fine. I think I may take a long walk now, however.” He stood and headed for the barn doors, not even waiting for the water. “I **did** learn a thing or two about myself. Things that require contemplation. Thank you for the opportunity, Tetch. I’ll be home later.” He slipped out the door and slid it closed behind him. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them warm, and began his long walk down the country road.

“Only a little while longer.” He muttered to himself. “My torment will end when he has gone back to his Alice. Out of sight, out of mind, _and out of my damned dreams!_ ” His hands balled into fists in his pockets.

Then, perhaps, he would be comfortable again. Comfortably independent, comfortably cold, comfortably… alone.

The Scarecrow would be in his element once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by my pal and yours, Micaxiii: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	9. Making Our Own Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Batman escapes the trap laid out by the Mad Hatter, Jervis has to deal with the fact that things might be changing. Meanwhile Jonathan Crane gets depressed with a bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set directly after 'Perchance to Dream'. So... probably for the best you're familiar with that episode. Also food tw and alcohol mention.

Time was not on the Mad Hatter’s side. Ever since the Queen of Hearts accused the man of murdering him, Time hadn’t listened to a single word the Hatter said. And even if Time had been on his side, there would be no way for them to be reunited. Time was evasive, but not even Time could slip through the clad tight defenses of a fortress like Arkham Asylum.

_And so Time would forever be stuck at 6 o’clock, and there wasn’t a single cup nor dish to be seen._

This, of course, was all just fanciful nonsense. Time, of course, was moving just as naturally as ever. _Seconds, minutes, hours_ , the face of clock didn’t need to be seen to tell that days had moved by– even if at an agonizing pace. In Arkham everything moved in the same way every day. Waking before dawn, with the sounds of unwelcoming yells and bangs disturbing anyone who had attempted to sleep, followed by a delightful breakfast of whatever medication they wanted to stuff down their inmates’ throats.  Chores, lunch, doctor appointments, recreation time could be earned if you were a good little child, doing what the doctors asked of you. Dinner, showers, and finally they would send you off to bed so you could experience the whole series of events again. And again. **_And again._ **

_Tick_ **_tock_ ** _. Tick_ **_tock_ ** _._

Jervis Tetch had only been following the whims of the clock for a mere half of a month, and already he felt like it was driving him stark raving mad. _As in angry, upset,_ **_irritable_ ** _._ The medication the doctors _oh so helpfully_ prescribed for his delusions were certainly doing the trick. Yes, he was all there– Jervis Tetch no longer had the ability to hide away within the fancy of his Wonderland. He was not from a world where the impossible could happen, where a pawn could become a queen if only they had jumped the last brook.  He was not the character from his favorite story, stuck in a never ending party with his dear companions as they playfully chided away all the uninvited guests.

No, he was merely Jervis Tetch, _and there lied the_ **_problem_ **.

Jervis found himself wrapping his arms around his legs, as his vision starred at the horrid looking stain on the floor of his cell. It was hard to tell what it had once been, as an attempt to clean it had been made. The cleaners would need to be fired, if their idea of a good day’s work was to leave their job half done. Just because the inmate couldn’t tell what it had once been– _food, sickness,_ **_blood?_** – didn’t hide the fact that it simple **_was_**. As in, was there, and taken in by his eye for detail.

There were many details to notice in Arkham. Dripping of sinks, the never ending chatter from inmates– some talking to neighbors and some only to the voices in their heads– not to mention the occasional screams and sobs.

It was a place for the unwell, which was unfortunate seeing as Jervis Tetch found himself **_well in_ ** the thicket of it all. Trapped right in the middle of the asylum’s maze, with no means of escape. No hopes, no dreams– what use was sleep if the man couldn’t even escape to something?

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Jervis’ gaze turned more fierce as he glared at the stain on the floor– trying his best to will the thing to take some sort of shape or form. Something he could latch onto to escape his hellscape he found himself in. He tried his best to make it look like the pointed erect ears of a rabbit– a creature of comfort and softness to contrast the hard granite floors. But the longer Jervis starred, the less it looked like a white rabbit– destined to lead him back home to freedom– and the more it looked like the ominous black shadow of a **_wretched swooping bat._ **

Bats were to blame for his mess, after all. Bats were the whole reason he was trapped inside a cage, walls closing in with every breath. A bat was what led Tetch from the comfort of his rabbit hole, away from a very loving home and friend, as he had tried to be the hero and get rid of the pest once and for all.

 _But Batman had ripped himself from his happy dreams, and with it, had destroyed all of the Mad Hatter’s in one_ **_bloodied snicker snack_ ** _._

He had him, Jervis had **_HAD_ ** him! Thanks to Jonathan’s help with testing the Red King, Tetch had known the machine was **_perfect_ ** . It should have been everything Batman **_dreamed_ ** of. Surely a man miserable enough to dress up as a bat must have had SOME sort of thing he craved! Some hidden desire trapped and covered with dust from unuse. No man was without desire, and he was **_sure_ ** there had to be a reason why Batman was who he was. Something he had once had that must have been tragically taken away. The Mad Hatter had been willing to give that to him. He had **_WANTED_ ** to make Batman happy. He would have allowed him to live the rest of his remaining days in his own personalized Wonderland just to keep him out of his **_LIFE!_ **

Tetch had been **_right_ ** when he once told Crane that the hero had an instinct for destroying his own happiness… He just wished he had been **_wrong._ **

Jervis found himself twitching, a maddening itch causing him to unwrap his legs as he began clawing at his scalp. Scratching and pulling had been another unfortunate side-effect from his lack of escape inside himself. With no means to slip away from reality, the inmate unfortunately found himself with an overabundance. There was too much awareness of the world around him, and that included the starchy feel of his body against any sort of texture. There was nothing to stop him from the focus of his beating heart that thumped and hammered in his chest. That hammered and beat and ticked and ticked and ticked.

 _Tick_ **_tock_ ** _. Tick_ **_tock_ ** _._

_Jervis Tetch, he was a wretch– with not a friend to find him. Where once there was, he left because…_

Jervis could no longer think of a proper answer.

* * *

 

“And then he just **left** me there! So of course I…”

Penguin frowned and side-eyed the man he’d been talking to for the past twenty minutes, before leaning against the glass of his cell and slapping a hand against it a few times to get his attention.

“Hey! Are you even **_listening_ ** to me over there?! I know you’re home, _I can_ **_see_ ** _you_!” Oswald huffed and muttered something under his breath about poor manners. This Tech guy was nothing like he’d been the first time they’d met; his weirdly whimsical, unsettlingly cheerful, endlessly polite nature was completely gone. He didn’t talk much at all, it was as if the doctors here had unscrewed something and poured out everything that had made him who he was.

Oswald shuddered in his cell. The meds around here really messed some of these guys up.

Tetch flinched, more so at the sudden sound of glass tapping than from Cobblepot’s chattering. He had been very much aware of that. _The man did so enjoy his waffling._

 _“‘I wasn’t asleep,’“_ Jervis quoted more so for the sake of it, than truly feeling the whim. _“‘I heard every word you fellows were saying.’_ So Joker left you, did he? How… very rude, **_indeed._ ** _”_

His words came out hoarse, and soft. One wouldn’t be surprised to hear the man hadn’t felt much like talking. Which was probably for the best, as Penguin was more than happy to talk for the both of them.

“ **_Right?_ **!” He nearly shouted, throwing his hands in the air. Satisfied he’d been listening after all, Oswald decided that maybe he should humor the guy and talk about his thing. Admittedly, this was mostly because he wanted to know, and less that he really cared about being polite. After a short silence, he added,

“So, uh… Batman didn’t go for the whole, dirty dream machine, huh? I’m not _surprised,_ I don’t think that guy has an emotion in his entire body! He’s like some kind of… of, **_robot!_ ** Closest thing to a wet dream that guy probably has is smashin’ Joker’s **face** into the _pavement_. … Heh. Wouldn’t mind seeing that, actually.”

Penguin was interrupted by a click at the end of the hall, which meant they had a visitor. He glowered and shuffled over to sit on his bed, fold his arms, and look the other way, indignantly. The last time he’d interacted with the guards, they’d given him something that made him sleep for what felt like weeks. … But was likely only a few hours.

Jervis luckily didn’t get the opportunity to question the nature of what his neighboring inmate had inquired of him– _which was probably for the best, least he start to catch on the true meaning of the words_ – as he too had found himself flinching again at the sound from the end of the hall. Changing shifts? Nono, that wouldn’t be until right before dinner. And he didn’t feel hungry– not that it meant much either way, hunger was yet another want Jervis felt suppressed in this mimsy of a place. No, that had only meant one thing and one thing only.

It had meant that one of them were to be whisked away. And as luck should have it, the winner of the round was his truly. _Frabjuous._

“Alright, Tetch, you’re being escorted for your appointment with Dr. Leland.” The guard– _a young handsome man with a strong jaw that would make women swoon and men like Jervis Tetch_ **_jealous from the very definition of it_ **– informed him of his intentions with a dry tone. The man clearly had no interest in his job, but was at least polite enough to keep things formal. Jervis surprisingly enough didn’t hate the man for it. He hated Arkham, he hated the way the place made him feel… But he couldn’t find himself hating the little drone who was merely trying his best to keep the hive up and running.

The guard continued speaking, just as Tetch willed himself to stand.

“Please stand in the middle of the cell, with your hands in front.” The inmate did as he was instructed, following the rules down to a T. The guard was happy enough by this, as he placed his access card next to the scanner– the grunt the thing gave causing Tetch to wince. Still, the experience only got worse as the motors of the cell began to creak, lifting the glass panel at a slow and suffering pace.

“I really **_wish_ ** it wouldn’t cry so,” Jervis couldn’t help but lament and mutter. “And I really wish you lot would take care of that **_blasted noise_ **.”

This seemed to at least slightly break the guard’s stoic facade, as the man hummed in agreement.

“I’ll mention it to the higher ups. But don’t be surprised if the request gets ignored.”

By this point the cell was completely lifted, and the guard made his may to place his cuffs onto the inmate’s wrist. Jervis sighed again, but this time he at least tried to force a polite smile for his warden.

“Thank you. An attempt is all I ask."

Penguin hopped off his cot and scurried back over to the window to watch Jervis leave. Better him than Oswald, those little sessions seemed so pointless, and even worse, humiliating. Still…

“Ms. Leland, huh?” He shouted after them. “Tell her Ozzy said hi, would ya?”

He was ignored, and the door at the end of the hall clicked shut. Oswald stepped back and sighed.

“ _You know_ , it’s really no wonder Mr. Hatter is so _miserable._ ” Came a lilting voice through the wall beside him that made his skin crawl. “First he’s thrown into the ‘ol booby hatch, and _then_ he’s forced to listen to **you** blather on and on all day. _It really does seem like cruel and unusual punishment.”_

Penguin growled and sneered. “Oh, shut up before I come over there and tie you into knots, you creep!”

“Oh I’d _much prefer_ **_that_ ** over listening to _you_ talk _a second longer about Batman’s wet dreams.”_

“ **Why you-** -! Mind your own business!” This was met with nothing but a short burst of cackling laughter, but Penguin’s would-be tantrum was quickly snuffed out by the medication running through his system. He settled for mumbling to himself and laying on his cot to fume in relative silence.

* * *

 

Dr. Leland read over her notes for the third time that morning as she waited for her next patient. Jervis Tetch was an interesting case. She’d been asked multiple times if she was sure she wanted to take him on, given his past, but she had assured them every time she could handle it. From what she understood, Mr. Tetch wasn’t a predator, he was simply a little too obsessed with one woman in particular.

And Dr. Leland was no Alice.

She tucked the papers away into her desk drawer as Jervis was escorted into the room, and sat down in the chair across from her. She gave a warm smile and a nod, folding her hands on the desk in front of her. She thanked the guard, who tipped his hat and left… but stayed right outside the door.

“Hello, Mr. Tetch. And how are you feeling today?” She could have guessed just by looking at him, but that really wasn’t the point.

The politeness of society told him the etiquette was to lie through his teeth and claim he was fine. Jervis was also tempted to do so just to be a stubborn sod. He had every right to be uncouth, this place– the doctors– they took away his only means of coping.

But in the end, the man didn’t have the energy to be so unruly.

“I’m not in favorable spirits, doctor. Though I supposed that can’t be **_helped_ **.”

And here the man began scratching at his cuffs– the metal cool and heavy on his sensitive skin. There were scabs there from the picking and irritation he’d gone through so far, and if he didn’t let off on scratching he might just end up reopening them. The sudden thought of infections was enough to momentarily cease his actions.

Leland frowned at the man’s obvious discomfort, and more importantly, at his scabs. She made a mental note to have him checked out by the medical staff right after.

“So I see. I appreciate your honesty, Jervis. I’m sorry, I understand being back on your medication might take some getting used to. You were off of them for quite awhile, weren’t you?”

Yes, he’d gone missing for a worryingly long time after he’d escaped. It was as if he’d vanished altogether.

“Did you have any more… _episodes,_ during this time?”

At this line of inquiry Jervis bristled. Ah, straight into the thicket of it, that was the good doctor’s plan, was it? Defensiveness swelled inside him, as he found himself glaring at his own shoes.

“I don’t **_believe_ ** I know what you **_mean_ ** ; you may have to **_elaborate_ **, doctor.”

Leland sigh lightly. She wondered if they would ever learn that being difficult only hurt themselves in the end. Being stubborn only slowed down progress. But she would play along for now, she supposed it was her fault in the first place he had been put on edge.

“Alright, then. Did you take any trips to Wonderland while you were away?” she tried again.

Jervis, still looking at his shoes, felt a swell of shame at the way Leland’s voice seemed to patronize him. Yet, instead of the anger he thought he should be feeling, Jervis instead felt… defeated.

“….Yes.” He didn’t want to address this, he knew he was creeping onto the problems he didn’t want to face. Jervis went on anyway, as if these were his last words of confession before the executioner went off with his head. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, I…. I did have an… _an episode_ , I suppose. It was a small one, though!” At this Tetch looked up suddenly, as if begging his doctor to understand. “I promise none got hurt. Jonathan did everything he could to bring me back quickly, _I promise_!”

The doctor was nodding sympathetically; she wasn’t surprised at all to hear he’d relapsed while away from the asylum, she’d been expecting that. She was hoping otherwise, but the fact he’d only had _one_ was still progress in her book.

“Jonathan? … You were with Mr. Crane?” This, really, was also not a big surprise. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him interact with anyone outside of Mr. Crane or Mr. Nygma. “And he was able to bring you out of it? Hm.” She quickly wrote down a note about that. It might be beneficial to keep Jonathan close at hand on days Jervis was feeling worse. She looked back up from her notepad.

“You don’t have any reason to worry, Jervis. You’re not going to be punished for a momentary relapse. Sometimes, those are unavoidable. … Do you recall what might have triggered the incident this time?”

Jervis had suddenly felt like maybe he had said something wrong when he mentioned his friend and associate. Oh… _oh dear_ , he hoped the doctor wouldn’t think to start asking him questions, such as the man’s whereabouts. He would play along in other regards, but he was NOT going to sell the man up the river. Even if he **_didn’t_ ** care for his dear friend, he knew it was **_rather unwise_ ** to break the trust of the Master of Fear!

Jervis was very much prepared to tell her this, as Dr. Leland was writing down things in her notes. He was, surprised, however, when the doctor dropped that line of questioning to get onto the other. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a much better topic.

“ _‘I’ll tell thee everything I can/ There’s little to relate_ ’“ Jervis instantly quoted following his brain’s logic trails. “Except… maybe it’s not so little?” Jervis had ventured, still not entirely understanding it himself. “There really wasn’t a reason for it. I was perfectly enjoying myself! Jonathan has always been the most pleasant of company. Sure, there was some teasing, and then there was Margaret’s thinking I was his…. ah, _female companion_ …”

Here Jervis said this with an embarrassed sigh, more so from the memory of the awkward situation than from actually being offend. Dr. Leland, meanwhile, just cocked a brow in confusion.

“Margaret?”

“Oh but that was quickly sorted, Jonathan must have explained things to her while I was changing.” Tetch had continued talking as if he hadn’t even registered the doctor’s question. “Yet, then when I returned she, well, she alluded to **_Alice_ ** …   _we know I tend to have a sore subject_ **_there_ **.”

Leland tried her best not to show her confusion. There were so many little details in those statements, and so many questions left unanswered. He had been up to quite a lot, by the sound of it. She wrote down the name Margaret… it  may help the authorities find Jonathan. But probably not.

“Mm-hmm. It sounds like you two had quite the adventure out there. … So you say someone _merely alluding_ to Alice was enough to set you off?”

She’d managed to keep the worry out of her voice, but not off her face. If that’s truly all it took, perhaps he hadn’t been making as much progress as she’d first assumed. Things may be worse than she thought.

Here Jervis grew silent, as he let the events hit threw him with a much more cleared mind. It… had seemed rather, silly, didn’t it? All the old woman had said was that he looked handsome enough for his lady friend. That Alice would find him _appealing_ . There was nothing wrong with somebody complimenting him. In fact, _Jervis could do with a few more compliments in his life_.

Jervis suddenly found himself wishing he hadn’t left the coziness of both the barn and the man of straw that watched over it.

Closing his eyes, Tetch shook himself away from those thoughts too. What was the point of wishing he was anywhere, when he was clearly there. And… And Crane had no doubt been doing much better without his company. There would be no one to disturb him from his work any longer.

“Jervis?” Leland had interrupted the steady chain of memories, leaving them crumbling at his feet. Jervis opened his eyes, almost looking lost, as he stared up at her.

“I had forgotten her.” The inmate whispered this, pain etched in his every feature as the mere thought. “I was upset because I had **_forgotten her_ **.”

Had it not been for Jervis’ genuine look of sorrow, Leland may have suspected he was merely telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. That was a well-known tactic around here. But instead, she allowed herself a small glimmer of hope.

“Jervis… you know that’s why you’re here, don’t you? _I’m proud of you._ It’s _perfectly healthy_ to not think about her every moment. Especially when you’re preoccupied enjoying yourself, surrounded by friends. In fact, if I remember correctly…”

And she **did** remember correctly, she’d made _sure_ of that. Despite reading Alice in Wonderland as a child, she’d recently re-read it in hopes of understanding this patient a little better.

“Alice was never invited to the tea party to begin with, was she? Nor did she hold much importance to the Mad Hatter at all. She came into his life, she stayed for a short while, and then she left. And when she did…” Here, she shrugged.

“The Hatter didn’t even notice. He was preoccupied enjoying the company of his friends. The tea party went on without her. And so can you.”

Leland had a bit of trepidation in the idea of feeding into his delusions like this, but she also felt like it was worth a try.

Jervis grew irritated as he listened to the doctor explain to him the story he knew frontwards and backwards as if it was his religion. He latched onto this feeling, let it well up inside him. It felt far better to be **_angry_ ** than it did to feel **_broken._ **

“ _No, you’re_ **_wrong!_ **” Here the inmate swiftly stood up out of his seat, as his glare practically burned into his doctor. Leland stepped back, though Jervis hardly noticed, as he paced back and forth in front of the chair.

“Alice was all I **_had._ ** She was the only glimmer of **_hope_ ** through the horrors of that… **_that isolation chamber_ ** !” Jervis was waving his arms wildly now, though he made no move to get closer to his doctor. If anything, it was more like he forgot she was there as he continued to argue. “She **_can’t_ ** be forgotten! She **_shouldn’t_ ** be forgotten! **_It’s nonsense_ ** , plain and simple! **_Alice is the main character,_ ** for pete’s sake! She **_HAS_ ** to be important! She has to be important to **_ME_ ** , _or else… Or_ **_else_ ** _._.”

Jervis’ legs grew weak, his heart racing as the realization of his fears and anger hit him. Tetch brought his arms closer to his chest, cradling himself in a laughable attempt of trying to find comfort.

“If she’s no longer important… **_why am I here?_ **”

The door opened then, and a guard peeked his head in. Leland discretely told them it was fine with a motion of her hand, and the door closed.

“Jervis… what you did to Allison was… well, it wasn’t good. You’re _here_ because you’re _sick_ . You’re here so we can **help** you. You’re in **here** so you can learn to cope again _out there_. Your stay here isn’t a punishment. You have friends you obviously cherish, and you have a genius mind that could better the world. It isn’t too late to work past your mistakes, to be a free, functioning man again.”

Leland scribbled a note on her pad, suggesting Jervis be prescribed Sertraline. It may help with his overall mood, or so she hoped.

_This was a detrimental amount of reality to take in._

Jervis Tetch found himself ungracefully plopping into the chair across from the doctor. His head was pounding, very much echoing the ticking of time that he was wasting away. **_Wasting?_ ** Hadn’t he been paying attention? Time had begun to be wasted the moment he donned his _bloody hat_ and thought he could **_control_ ** _his world around him_.

And what was that about a functional member of society? _Him?_ He didn’t do so well BEFORE his name and mistakes were plastered all over Gotham’s tabloids– how functional could he be with everyone knowing **_who_ ** and **_what_ ** he was? No, no Jervis Tetch– _for that was who he_ **_was_ ** _, his mind mockingly reminded him_ – had thrown away all chances of a happy normal life. He threw that all away when he wanted to play pretend. _What did the_ **_real world_ ** _have to offer him_ **_now_ ** _?_

Jervis choked back a half sob as he buried his face in his hand, his shame making it so he wished to hide away from the pitying look he felt burning into his skin. Jervis didn’t want her **_compassion_ ** – _he didn’t want to be reminded how much of a_ **_joke_ ** _he must have been to everyone but_ **_him_ ** _._

“I… I think I’m **_done_ ** , now, doctor.” Here he really wished he had been granted his hat back, just for the pure sake of hiding away. “ _Please…”_

It didn’t take the doctor long to decide it was pointless to push the man any farther this session. He’d had enough. They’d made some progress… he’d opened up to her, and that was important. After a short silence, she nodded.

“Alright, Mr. Tetch.” She stood and walked over to the door, opening it, and looking back at him. “I’ll see you next week. Try and get some rest.” She let the guards know they were finished, and they entered to escort him out.

Jervis didn’t respond to her. He didn’t even respond as the guard gently began escorting him back to his cell. Every step had the world twisting and spinning around him– how he managed to keep going at all was a mystery. Each step, another tick of the clock. Time’s funny little joke. The guard seemed to continue to pity him, as he had the kindness to help him sit on the bed that was far too hard and cold like everything else in Arkham.

Jervis barely even twitched a muscle when he finally heard his cellmate across from him let out a worrying squawk.

“ **_Woah._ ** What the heck did the broad **_do_ ** to you?”

Tetch merely stared at his feet as he answered hoarse and blankly as only a broken man could.

“ _She showed me my wretched existence._ ”

“. **_…That’s rough, buddy._ **”

Jervis almost wished he could laugh. Or cry. Or even feel the urge to rip and pull every hair and skin until all that was left of him was a pile of useless flesh next to the taunting stain on the floor. _But_ **_instead_ ** he remained silent as the world around him continued to scream.

* * *

 

“He isn’t coming back, you know.” Jonathan informed the bird, who hadn’t moved from the loft doorway for a full twenty-four hours now. Jervis had left two days ago with his finished machine, and both Nevar and Jonathan had been listening to the radio since.

“Even if he **should** succeed, he’ll be off with his Alice, far away from Gotham. We might be invited to the wedding… _we won’t be_ **_attending_ ** _, by the way._ ” He threw an accusatory glance up at the loft as if the bird had suggested otherwise.

Silence settled back over the barn, with only the hum of the radio for company. Jonathan sat reading Poe… or he had been at one point. He’d been staring at the same page for over an hour now. His cup of tea sat untouched and cold on the table beside him. He practically leapt from his chair and over to the radio when the news report came on, hovering over it and turning the volume up. The Mad Hatter had been apprehended by Batman, and taken back to Arkham. Crane let out a big, dramatic sigh, and shut the radio off.

“And **there** you have it. Go hunting for the lion, you’ll soon become its dinner.” He knew which emotions he _should_ have been feeling; relief, perhaps disappointment at the Bat winning once again. But this odd sense of worry? It was unwelcome.

“Good. Now I can finally focus on my… on my work…” The heavy air of melancholy hit him like a ton of bricks, and was immediately burnt up by rage.

“This is **_ridiculous_ ** ! Why should I feel anything at all? **_We all knew this was going to happen sooner or later!”_ **

The yelling had made him feel better. He noticed Nevar was gone. Likely out making his rounds, looking for… uhg. That stupid bird. He just couldn’t understand. _Wouldn’t_ understand.

 **It’s affecting you because you let it. You allowed yourself to get too close. Friendship makes you weak,** **_but love makes us VULNERABLE_ ** **. You’re still surrounded by his things. GET RID OF IT ALL. Look what he did to our barn.** **_THE SCARECROW DOESN’T DO COZY!_ **

“Yes…” Jonathan replied, in a sort of daze, taking in his surroundings. Jervis had tried turning this place into a house. And he’d let him. Without a second thought. “I’ll get rid of it all.” He was vaguely aware he was holding a match at he stared into its hypnotizing flame. _“Every accursed memory.”_

The trance was broken when the bird swooped at his face. Jonathan _screamed_ and pinwheeled backwards, the match falling from his hand, uselessly snuffed out on the barn floor. Jonathan was huddled into a ball beside it, trembling hands shielding his vulnerable neck, like all the times before. There was no Scarecrow, there was only little Jonathan Crane, trapped in that aviary, praying for forgiveness to whatever God was still listening. And there he wept.

* * *

 

Jonathan sat in his chair, reading once more… still surrounded by Jervis’ things. It wasn’t Poe he was reading this time, but a little something he’d picked up at Margaret’s. A collection of Lewis Carroll’s works. He’d seen it and had been _curious._ He’d smirk every time he’d come across a line he could remember his friend quoting at one time or another.

It had been a week or more since almost burning the barn down. He’d read this book four times through. The March Hare was obviously the most entertaining character.

He sat the book aside and stroked the bird that was huddled in his lap. Nevar had been listless and clingy, but Jonathan didn’t mind too much. It **was** getting colder, after all. The bird did need to keep warm.

* * *

 

“Nevar… I don’t think we’ll be doing Halloween this year.”

Crane lay in the loft, staring up at the ceiling. The bird lay huddled into a ball on his stomach. The loft doors had been shut against the cold and driving rain. The sound of it hitting the roof and doors was oddly soothing.

“I’m just not **_feeling_ ** _it_ , you know?”

Nevar did know, but didn’t stir. Not until Jonathan’s stomach grumbled loudly under him. This caused the bird to stand up in alarm, cocking its head this way and that to get a better listen.

“Hm. I suppose the seeds just won’t suffice.” He patted the bird on the head. He appreciated the bird’s attempts at keeping him alive, but it was time to admit to himself the four sunflower seeds in the span of three days just wasn’t cutting it. He sat up and brushed the straw from his hair.

“Maybe I’ll take a trip into Gotham… just for a short while. _It’s been so long_ . And I could **use** a break from this horrible place. I’ll even bring you home some, french fries, or something.” He descended the ladder and changed, grabbing some cash and his truck keys.

* * *

 

Gotham was a very large city. Thankfully. This meant finding a small bar where he was unlikely to be noticed was pretty easy. The place was much warmer than the barn, and the four spicy chicken wings he’d eaten were keeping him pretty toasty, as well. He still had eight he needed to eat. Why had be ordered a dozen? What in the world had be been thinking? He leaned forward on the table and stared uninterested at the football game on the overhead television, distantly aware of the looks he was being given.

He was in a place with other criminals, of course, but none he recognized. Which meant just your average robbers and the like. Knowing his presence was akin to seeing a movie star in your local fast food restaurant lifted his spirits ever so slightly. The fact they probably didn’t know who he was without his mask never once crossed his mind.

Crane, however, had been recognized. This special individual would have known his mug anywhere.

“Holy smokes, if it ain’t d’ Professah!”

Harley Quinn, sans disguise but easily recognizable from the bar stool she had been spinning around on as she talked happily with a friend or twelve she had made, found herself stopping in her tracks as her face lit up in recognition.

The youthful woman gave a playful pat on the back to the guy next to her as she wildly lept from her chair– a dangerous feat as she was wearing white roller skates.  Acting like it was the most natural movement, the woman skated her way closer to the sad lonely man who looked as out of place there as she did.

Sliding into the seat next to him, she wrapped her mentor in a big hug as she noisily smooched him on the cheek.

“ **_MYAH!_ ** Ya ol’ spooky bag a’bones, why didn’tcha say y’were in the neighborhood? I woulda come t’see ya ages ago if I’d known!”

Had it been anyone else intruding upon his personal space so suddenly, they would have been met with violence and a lot of shouting. But this was Harleen Quinzel; star pupil, summer child, the very sun itself in a place like Arkham. He didn’t know of a single soul who didn’t love Harley in one way or another. Why, he suddenly felt his spirits lighten from her mere presence alone.

“ _Hello, Harley, dear child._ ” A tone reserved for her and, occasionally when no one else was around to hear, his bird. He did his best to discreetly lean away from her; while he appreciated her company, the closeness was still making him mildly uncomfortable. “Are you out on _good behavior_ this time, _or of your own merit?”_

Harley was one of the few rogues allowed to leave occasionally, through legal means, when they thought she was ready to try being a functioning member of society again. But that didn’t mean she didn’t escape on her own from time to time… usually when the Joker had something planned.

Luckily for Crane, Harley had readily backed away. While she was naturally a cuddly and affectionate gal, she could read signs when somebody was having too much of a good thing.

Still sitting next to him in her seat, she smiled broadly in only the way she could that looked both innocent and crazed at the same time.

“ **_Ha!_ ** Oh boy, I **_wish_ ** I was out on good behavior! **_Nahhh_ ** , I’m just lyin’ low until Mistah J finishes ironing out t’kinks on a new plans o’his. After his last funnin’ around with the Bat, he’s been a lil’ moody thinkin’ t’guy forgot ‘im or somethin’. An’ then there was somethin’ bout somebody impersonatin’ him? He’s jus’ been a **_wreck_ ** ova’ the guy!”

At the thought of her boo and being kicked out of their love nest, Harley deflated some as she leaned an elbow on the table. Not even thinking much about it, as her focus was completely on her mentor, she lazily picked up one of his chicken wings as she began eating it.

“ **_Mmm,_ ** yeah, but whatta ‘bout choo? Ye really jus’ disappeared there fer a while– _I was gettin’ worried_.”

Crane raised a brow. Oh? The radio had let him know that Joker had been blamed for their little escapade, but to know it had upset the mad man so badly… he took solace in this. Petty, perhaps, but he took what comfort he could afford in these trying times.

“We’d been lying low as well, the Mad Hatter and I.” He began, feeling a lot better suddenly. Perhaps this was what he’d needed all along; to get out of that barn and back into Gotham for awhile. Solitude had its charms, but too much of it took its toll on the mind and spirit after awhile. “He needed a place to work on his machine, but now… well. I’m sure you’ve heard, _that didn’t exactly have the happy ending Mr. Tetch was hoping for.”_

He sighed, and pushed the rest of the chicken closer to Harley, absentmindedly.

 _“I really can’t_ **_imagine_ ** _how he could have been expecting any other outcome.”_

His smile had suddenly vanished as he stared back up at the television. Honestly, Crane had thought Jervis had a fair chance of getting rid of Batman for good. The plan really did seem flawless. But now, in the aftermath, the mere notion that Batman could be stopped seemed foolish.

“ _Yeaaah_ ,” Harley replied, feeling her own mood sinking some just from the thought of it. “Poor Jervis. Honestly, from what I got’a whiff of, it was… _well, kinda sweet o’ ‘im._ But Batman ain’t the type t’ jus’ let ‘imself snooze away in dreamland, ya know?” At this Harley paused as she thought of the last conversation she had with the guy, after the previous time she’d been allowed to walk free of Arkham. It was her turn to grow a bit forlorn. “I think Bat’s got some things he’s dealin’ with. _And the doc’ in me kinda wishes him luck with that._ ”

Harley wasn’t liking this train of thought– **_humanizing Batman?_ ** What was she? **_Crazy?_ ** Well, yeah, but it was still better in their line of work to NOT start feeling for the guy. And so, with a grin on her face as she went to work on her next wing, she decided to change the subject.

“So hey, **_question_ **: What was it like livin’ with the ol’ Hatman? Y’must got some funny stories!”

Crane watched her from the corner of his eye as she went on about Batman. While he believed the Doctor in her was truly concerned for the man, he also believed the woman in her had different feelings altogether. It was really no wonder she constantly forgave the Joker for being so enamored by the Batman… she was guilty of the same crime. But that was far from a conversation he wanted to have with Harley. As it was, he felt an almost fatherly concern over her wearing such a revealing outfit in a bar filled with shady men, despite knowing full well she could handle herself should a problem arise.

“It was dreadful.” He replied instead, confidently. “He turned my hideout into his _little comfort nest_ . How is the God of Fear supposed to feel in his **element** while surrounded by _throw pillows_ and **blankets** with _cute animals_ on them? He even charmed my _bird minion_ into enjoying **his** company over _mine!_ And what’s worse, because of him, _Margaret won’t stop trying to set me up with her friends’ sons!”_

The anger behind these words was mostly forced. But it had sounded good, anyway. He let the rest of his steam out in a sigh.

“But, he _is_ a brilliant man. I suppose it was.. _. nice,_ to spend my time with such a like-minded individual. If you ever get the chance to know him outside of those accursed Arkham walls, dear Harley, I very much recommend it.”

Harley nearly choked on her food over the ‘sons’ comment. She quickly recovered, as she began thinking that line of thought over. She didn’t know who this Margaret lady was, but she may have been onto something about the whole gaydar thing.

“Oooh, **_sons_ ** . Yeah, okay, I getcha.” At this Harley nodded her head, as if she was just accepting it as fact now that it was shown to her. She wasn’t one to judge there, considering she was batting for multiple teams _herself_ . But it was sort of… funny to her that she never really thought her old teacher as being… well, **_into anyone_ ** . Maybe she just didn’t think about it, because that would be like thinking about her parents canoodling. Or Santa Claus in a speedo. **_No thanks!_ **

Still… Harley felt her insides turn gushy and gooey as she listened to the man next to her talk about the Hatter.

“Oh… **_oh Professah_ ** . I knew the two of you were friends n’ all… but I didn’t know y’had it **_that_ ** bad.” The heart in her eyes could practically be seen breaking into crumbling pieces, as that lead to another realization. “ _You must be_ **_miserable_ ** _without the guy!_ **_Ooooh!_ **” And at this the man found himself into a bone crushing hug once more as she felt her heart breaking for her beloved teacher.

A sort of surprised panic began to rise within Crane then, and not only because he couldn’t breathe beneath Harley’s crushing embrace. He wasn’t sure which thing he should deny first.

 _“Harley, please, you misunderstand…!_ ” He wheezed, before managing to pry himself free. As soon as he’d gotten his breath back, he continued.

“I merely **admire** the man. And while it is, _regrettably true_ , that I may _miss_ his _company.._ . we are both better off with him in– …” The look on his face suddenly turned dark, hateful. “I can’t even **_finish_ ** that sentence! Arkham is no _hospital_ , it’s a _prison._ Shooting us full of drugs until we can’t **think** and then expecting us to be _compliant_ and answer their asinine questions! Under the guise that it’ll help us in some way, no less! The people there aren’t patients, they’re **_lab rats!_ **”

The irony of these statements were not lost on the ex professor, so much as ignored and tossed away. His anger spent, Crane wilted, cradling his head in hands that were hooked in frustration. When he spoke again, his tone was meek, almost pleading.

_“Doctor Quinzel… what am I to do?”_

He knew better than to think Harley would believe his lies. He wasn’t speaking to some air headed child, he was speaking to a fellow psychologist. He just hoped she understood his need to live in denial for just a little bit longer.

She did. She completely understood. And while it hurt her to see her mentor hurting, she brushed away those feelings aside as she straightened up in the seat, pushing the basket of wings away as she became the professional she once was.

“Well, I believe I hardly need to tell you that it’s perfectly human to be concerned about a… **_friend_ **. “ Here she cleared her throat, letting the emphasis stand so Crane realized she was playing along. “And Tetch is already a sensitive individual, especially once taken out of his element of control. He’ll be dealing with signs of depression, and that alone can be concerning for those in a prison environment when not treated properly. So, I suppose my only recommendation would be…”

And here her airs of profession slipped away, as a big grin plastered itself on her face.

“ **_Ye gotta break Hatter out!_ ** C’mon, I’m orderin’ us a coupla drinks, and we’re gonna fine tune the details so y’can go save ‘im! Ahhh, you’re like his **_Prince Charmin_ **, or somethin’!” Here she started whistling for the bartender’s attention. “Hey Mac, two brews!”

“Yes… _or something…_ ” Jonathan mumbled. He considered turning down the drink, as it wasn’t something he liked to do, but if ever he needed to numb a few brain cells, it was now.

The thought of breaking Jervis out **had** crossed his mind, fleetingly, but for what purpose? It would only land Jonathan back to where he’d been before. His options were let Jervis be miserable, tortured in Arkham… or allow himself to be miserable, living with a man he felt unnecessary, unorthodox, and unrequited affections for. But the decision had been made now; it was happening. He was getting Jervis out of that Hell hole. And when he was out? Tetch could decide for himself if he wanted to stay or find his own place.

The thought of either decision made the lead ball in Jonathan’s gut grow heavier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riddle me this: I am underappreciated in value, though the world needs it to survive. And yet, despite everything, the worth becomes immense once it has been reaped. What am I?
> 
> An artist, obviously. Go appreciate Micaxiii's while you still can: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com/


	10. The Great Arkham Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scarecrow has a mission: break into Arkham Asylum to steal back what rightfully belongs to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mental illness, some talk of fear-- lots of crying. Oh, and Nevar continues to be the best character.

A delivery truck pulled up to the Arkham gates. The young man behind the wheel rolled down his window and leaned out to speak into the intercom.

“I got a truck load of sheets ‘n cleanin’ supplies here.” He flashed his I.D. toward the camera and, after a short pause, there was a buzzing sound and the gates began to swing open. He had kept his voice as steady as he could, but it was a challenge when you had a gun digging into your neck.

“Y-y'know, it ain’t often y'hear of you guys breakin’ **into** Arkham…” He couldn’t stop talking. He talked when he was nervous. The masked creature behind him grunted.

“I’m merely here to take back some… stolen property.”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, I get that, I really do.” The young man began nodding a little bit too enthusiastically. “You know I had this cousin who–”

“Don’t **_PARK_ ** , you incompetent drone! **Back** into the **_unloading garage._ **”

“Yes sir.” The young man squeaked, audibly swallowing the lump in his throat. This, at least, Scarecrow appreciated. It was always satisfying when he was able to instill fear even without the use of his toxins. The kid did what he’d been ordered to do, and once the truck had been backed into the garage, he began to weep.

“Please… don’t kill me, I, I have this girl at home, you know? She’s pregnant with my kid and, and I don’t--”

“How unfortunate for her.” Scarecrow pulled the trigger, and the kid slumped forward onto the steering wheel with a tranquilizer dart sticking out of the back of his neck. With the driver out of the way, Scarecrow hopped out of the truck, stopping momentarily to shake a Styrofoam coffee cup off his foot, and then made his way to the back of the truck. He slid the door up and grabbed a small bag that he slung over his shoulder. Then he slipped inside the building… now to find someone who would, ever so kindly, lend him a key card for the cells.

* * *

 

Kenneth Rogers was a hard working man. He clocked in, did what was asked as efficiently as he could, and even tried his best to treat the patients with respect. Rogers was aware that sometimes his fellow guards would either be too cruel– there were the stories of what the **_last_ ** head of security used to do to the patients, and **_that_ ** was enough to make him feel ill– but sometimes there were others who allowed themselves to be bribed in order to let the inmates escape.

Kenneth Rogers was neither, and as such he lived a pretty ordinary and boring existence. Which was fine by him, as it allowed him to go home to his wife and kids at night– very much alive.

Arkham had a strange policy of shifting what sections and duties the guards would partake in. Last week Rogers had been busy escorting patients to their appointments, and this week the heads had him on security on the eastern wing. Which was _fine_ , as nothing much happened there. The eastern wing was more dedicated to housing confiscated belongings until their doctors thought the inmates well enough to earn them back. As well as a few utility closets, but that was less noteworthy. Sometimes the young man found himself curious to actually see what sort of things the more notorious prisoners kept there, but he wasn’t ever curious enough to take the risk of getting caught. Being a guard may not have been the most thrilling of jobs, but it kept food on the table and paid the bills. Curiosity wasn’t worth the risk.

_…Or so Rogers had thought._

Noticing a strange shadow run across the hall, leading towards the very room he was forbidden to open, a sense of dread built up in the guard. Drawing his steel baton. the man hardened his gaze as he carefully moved down the hall. The door was slightly ajar, as slight rustling could be heard from inside the room. For all he knew, this could have just been one of the younger guards giving into their own curiosity– which he really couldn’t blame them for. If that was the case, he would merely give them a good scare, teach them a lesson, and they’ll all be the better for it.

As Rogers continued to creep closer, the more the rustling sounded more frantic. The guard’s grip around his weapon tightened. No… _No this was something_ **_serious_ ** _._

He prayed he would be able to see his family again.

And with that thought in mind, Kenneth Rogers swung open wide the door. Clenching his jaw, he had to lock away the gasp that wanted to escape. There, standing tall and looming like the cryptid he was… was the Scarecrow. Rogers had heard stories about him. Stories about people who had died from fear just from the man’s stare. Some even said the guy wasn’t human anymore, and that looking into his deadlights would be the last thing a guy saw.

He had a job to do, Rogers wouldn’t allow himself believe in **_superstitions_ **. Luckily for the guard, Scarecrow had his back to the door, as things were littered all over the floor. .Books, comfort items, clothes. Rogers took a step closer into the room, doing his best to creep and keep the element of surprise as he raised his baton over his head– ready to strike.

And in that moment the demon must have sensed something amiss, as the next thing Rogers knew he was staring into the soulless eyes of the Scarecrow.

_Oh dear lord, he was going to die._

Scarecrow hadn’t been _afraid,_ he’d reason with himself later, but merely _surprised,_ to see the guard had managed to sneak up on him like that. But the fear so evident in the man’s eyes gave him his confidence back, and he quickly aimed his tranquilizer gun and fired.

Only to hear a hollow clicking sound. Ah. He’d only brought a single dart for the driver. Why was he even still carrying this useless thing around! The guard was still closing in and, worse yet, was reaching for his radio. If he alerted the others, it would be over. He’d be back in here with the rest of them, and he’d have no one to blame but himself.

The gun was flipping through the air before Scarecrow was even aware he’d chucked it at the man’s head.

Kenneth Rogers had been doing everything he could to remember his training. Call for backup, stall, and do his best to apprehend the criminal. If the guard had been thinking straight, he would have called for backup while he was still out in the hall– yet, this wasn’t the time to worry about such a rookie mistake. He wanted to make it out of the situation _alive_.

Rogers had been thankful when he heard the clicking of the gun that had been aimed at him. All relief he may have felt was quickly forgotten, as the mad man violently threw the thing straight at his face. Stumbling back in pain, Roger’s luck only grew worse as his feet slipped on one of the books under him.

“Gyah!” The man cried, doing his best to keep his balance. A forceful push from the taller man was all it took to send Rogers down.

_The_ **_crack_ ** _his skull made as it came into contact with the floor was the last thing the guard heard– the nothingness_ **_engulfing_ ** _him as his vision faded to black._

Scarecrow looked down at the man on the floor. Well, that had gone better than expected. He stepped over him to close the door; he didn’t need any more uninvited guests. He then returned to the man to do something he hadn’t been looking forward to, but it was necessary.

’ _I haven’t known of my homosexuality for even a month, and already I’m undressing a man. Wouldn’t grandmother be proud_.’ he thought bitterly to himself, and immediately regretted ever having said thought, as he went to work stripping the unfortunate guard and donning his uniform. The real prize here was the key card that hung from a lanyard around the man’s neck.

“Thank you for your cooperation…” He glanced down at the name tag. “Mr. Rogers?” He raised a brow. “You’re kidding me. Alright. Fine. Nothing personal, I assure you.” Scarecrow assured the unconscious man, removing his Scarecrow mask and stuffing it into the bag with Jervis’ things. He took out a fake mustache and a pair of sunglasses to complete the look, despite Rogers not having either.

"And by the way, I’d really get that concussion checked out by a doctor if I were you.“ He added, pulling the guard hat over his brow and slipping out the door.

* * *

 

Cobblepot had been talking, that much hadn’t changed in the week. The only difference to Jervis Tetch was the fact he didn’t seem to care anymore. The man made a pretense that it was for his ego, to show off and get some sort of attention– but Jervis knew the man was just as miserable as he. Talking made him forget, complaining gave himself something to be angry about instead of focused on the feeling of helplessness and loss of control.

Jervis **_wished_ ** he could work up such a passion.

Life felt greyer than it had been. It was a funny thought, really. Despair and helplessness had already been a feeling he knew, especially when locked away within Arkham’s walls. But never before had his world felt so colorless. It wasn’t a mere aesthetic– for hadn’t the prison always had a gloomy presence? Yes, but before there had always been splashes of reds and blues– the soft glows of yellow from the sun as it did its best to shine some life into the place. There had been hope once. Hope within the darkness that he would make it out alright on the other side of the looking-glass– to find the beautiful garden that awaited him.

But his mirror was now broken, and even the once brilliant orange hair of his neighboring cellmate seemed dull and lifeless.

Dr. Leland had made good of her note to prescribe medication to help with his anxiety. While sometimes he would still feel the need to pick away at skin or hair, more to relieve the building tension inside himself, he at least found control to squash the impulse. His eyebrows would thank him for it with time. Unfortunately with one need met, others found themselves known. With the swell of the constant ticking in his skull dealt with, his body gave in to other desires of sleep. It was sort of amusing to think that it was sleep that got him there in the first place, and now all Jervis wanted to do was close his eyes and be swallowed by his own subconscious.

Jervis should have used the Red King on himself– maybe then he wouldn’t have found himself without a purpose.

Closing his eyes, the inmate was only vaguely aware of the sound of the doors opening at the end of the hall– causing Penguin to cease his otherwise endless chattering. Footsteps echoed against the floor, the vibrations making their way up the concrete and through the metal of his cot. Tetch let out a shaky breath, but otherwise didn’t allow it to affect him. If he just continued to close his eyes, maybe the visitor would think to overlook him. Play possum, as it were, and maybe one of his fellow prisoners would meet their fates instead of him.

_Little did he know…_ **_fate had other plans_ ** _._

This place resembled some sort of twisted zoo, Crane thought to himself and not for the first time, as he walked down the rows of cells. Most of the inmates purposely ignored him, and he didn’t blame them for that. Guards very rarely came bearing good things. The very mood in this place was so… downtrodden, so hopeless. He failed to see how anyone was expected to “heal” in a place like this.

And none of them were the guy Crane was looking for. Finally he found who he’d come here to find, at the very end of the row. He cast a quick, unfriendly glare at Penguin, who was giving him his own, suspicious look.

“What gives? **You’re** not Rogers…” Oswald pointed out the obvious.

_“Oohhh, we’ve got a creep in wolf’s clothing over here~_!” Ragdoll sang, face and hands pressed up against the glass.

But Crane paid them no mind, turning his back to both of them to face Jervis’ cell. The mild excitement that had been buzzing in his head was snuffed out now, looking in at the defeated man curled up on an uncomfortable cot. Like an abused puppy in the kennel. He had to quickly bury the sinking hurt he felt seeing this. Crane shook his head at the man who didn’t even stir, and inserted the key card into the slot. He took a step back as the door grunted and began to open. Ever so slowly. Uhg. _That_ **_sound_ ** _._ Of course they’d have stuck him here.

A line from a particular story occurred to him now, and despite hoping this wouldn’t become a habit of his, he smiled beneath his fake mustache. It was such a _cruel_ thing to say, given the man’s current state. So tasteless. Truly, only a **monster** would utter such a thing at a time like this…

_“‘Were you happy in prison, dear child?’”_

While none of the other comments had been enough to stir Jervis from his near catatonic state– _Cobblepot and his associate had a habit of saying the strangest things just to annoy the guards, after all_ – the man’s voice was enough to cause the inmate to jerk his head towards the now very much opened cell door.

He knew that quote– _for it had indeed been a quote_ – and more importantly he knew that voice. An air of patronizing sophistication, laced with just enough charm to make a person curious enough to hear what they had to say.

And despite the ridiculous getup, the sea of flames peeking under the guard’s cap was enough to tell him everything he needed.

“Haigha– Jonathan.” Jervis croaked in a way that only spoke of his lack of use. Jervis’ head swam in a dizzying sense of elation and confusion, as he made quick work of making his way towards his friend. Jervis knew the man would later hate him for it, but the sense of happiness and appreciation had been so great– _a first positive emotion he felt sense being captured and sent to Arkham_ – that he couldn’t help but grab onto his dear friend as he choked back a sob.

“Oh, _oh Jonathan_ . What in the world are you **_doing_ ** here? _I thought…_ ” It didn’t matter what he thought. It didn’t matter if he thought he had been a burden on the professor. Because the man was **_there_ ** , and he was there for **_him_ **.

Being hugged was, somehow, not something Jonathan had been expecting. Then again, it never was. Everything in him tightened but, as was with Harley’s affections, they evoked warmness within him rather than disdain.

Unlike with Harley’s affections, however, these warm feelings brought along with them the feeling of moths trapped within his chest, and this, Jonathan wasn’t a fan of.

“There, there.” He wrapped an arm around to pat Jervis on the back. Close enough. With his free hand, he reached inside the bag and pulled out Jervis’ hat, placing it on his friend’s head. “Prison is no place for a Hatter. And, the bird missed you. He sends his regards. Shall we?”

There would be time for tearful reunions later. Right now, Jonathan was anxious to get out of there before they sent the white coats in after them.

And a tearful reunion was what it was, for Jervis– nay, **_Hatter_ **– found himself crying despite how much he tried to stop himself. Oh, oh he really wished he would stop, before they found themselves all drowning in a pool of his tears.

Hatter allowed his hat to hide his face, finally feeling allowed to take charge of himself once more.

“Yes,” the man began following his friend out from his cell, “I… really wouldn’t want to disappoint our feathery friend.”

It was a bird of another persuasion that interrupted their moment of intimacy, as Penguin squawked out in annoyance.

“Wait a minute, where are you going? You’re not just gonna **_leave me here_ **, are you?” If this was some kind of rescue mission, Penguin didn’t want to be left behind. He’d had enough of being left behind lately and besides, what good was having friends if they couldn’t get you out of prison once in awhile?

“That’s _precisely_ what I plan to do, actually.” Jonathan had no reason to help this disgusting man, and the look of utter devastation on his face was so much more rewarding. And a welcome distraction from Jervis’ tears. He turned away to begin their escape.

Crane, however, was stopped when Jervis called out to him.

“Jonathan, wait…”

“ **_What?_ ** You can’t…” At this the villain bristled, anger clearly written on Crane’s face as he couldn’t believe how… **_idiotically charitable_ ** Jervis was trying to be in the middle of their escape. “We don’t have **_TIME!_ **”

At this Jervis flinched, but otherwise stood his ground.

“Yes, but be **_reasonable_ ** .” Here the Mad Hatter peeked from under his hat, as he threw his Hare a very calculated and devious grin. “ Subterfuge may be the best way to move forward–  surely the guards won’t be able to catch **_all_ ** of us, _now_ **_would_ ** _they_?”

“You won’t find _anything_ more distracting than **us!** ” Ragdoll chimed in.

“Yeah! What he said.” Penguin added.

But it was neither of these things that had convinced Jonathan. Not only had Jervis made a good point, but it had been a side of Jervis Jonathan didn’t see often. For all of the man’s gentlemanly ways, hidden behind that charming visage coiled a deadly viper.

_His little deviant, indeed._

“Fair point.” Jonathan replied optimistically with a shrug, reaching out to flip up the plastic casing on the fire alarm and pulling down the lever. The building instantly filled with noise and commotion as every cell door began to open, cheering and yelling from the cells’ occupants rose up to join the cacophony. Jonathan grabbed Hatter’s sleeve and led the man to weave between the commotion.

Being dragged by one cuffs was not a preferable way to run about, but Jervis allowed it as he hadn’t the slightest idea what his friend’s plan was from there. While the commotion from the inmates had done its deed of causing confusion for the guards, it, however, also caused confusion for him as he felt himself getting lost in the tussle. Running after feeling so lethargic for so long was a jolt through Jervis’ system, his veins throbbing from the adrenaline in a way that almost hurt. But still he ran, and the familiar ticking and thumping of his heart returned.

Except Time would be waiting for Hatta and Haigha on the other side of Arkham’s walls.

Jervis hadn’t the slightest idea where he was being dragged, yet ideas began to form as they neared closer towards the hospital’s docking garage.

“Are we… are we to become extras?” Hatter asked curiously, as he noted the parked truck that clearly belonged to the company that did Arkham’s washing. Crane’s answer came with opening the driver’s side of the door, as he with all the force he could muster threw the sleeping driver out of his way. Jervis decided he wouldn’t weep for the little oyster, as escaping seemed much more important.

And he was not in the mood to shed anymore tears, crocodile’d or otherwise.

“While I am certainly very grateful, March dear,” Here Jervis huffed and puffed as he tried to relax into the passenger seat. “I do so **_hope_ ** there won’t be much more running. _‘For some of us are out of_ **_breath_ ** _/And all of us are_ **_fat!_ ** _’_ “

Jonathan climbed in and closed the door, casting a mischievous glance at his companion as he started the truck.

“Well, _dear”_ he teased, throwing Jervis’ over phrasing back at him. “I do hope you can handle a **little** more excitement tonight.” He floored the gas pedal and the truck lurched out of the garage.

“Oh, and you might want to buckle up.” He turned the wheel sharply, and the tires squealed as the truck turned so abruptly it nearly toppled over, but righted itself in time. A wicked grin adorned Crane’s face as the truck sped closer and closer to the Arkham gates with no sign of slowing.

The Mad Hatter had become a Screaming Tetch as Crane drove madly towards the gate.

“J-Jonathan surely your plan isn’t–” here the scared man began to wildly attempt at buckling himself in, his hands fumbling as fear made him miss his mark. “ _Jonathan this isn’t_ **_funny_ ** _anymore!_ ”

His person finally secured, Jervis’ hands found themselves gripping the strap across his chest, his eyes closed in absolute terror as they were mere seconds away from impact and their untimely deaths. It was in that moment Jervis realized he was a religious man, as he prayed to any god willing to listen to let him survive.

Jervis continued to scream, even after the vehicle shot through the gate– throwing metal and and the car about violently.

Ah, the sound of the Mad Hatter’s screaming was music to his ears. And a nice change from the awkward feelings fest. Crane understood fear, fear was comfortable. The truck fishtailed as they sped away from the asylum, sirens could already be heard in the distance. Such a messy getaway compared to his last, but it was certainly exciting.

“Young Harleen helped concoct this plan, _can you tell_?” He finally slowed, and pulled the truck over to the side of the street, concealed in inky shadows. He opened his door and before hopping out he said, with genuine compassion for a change,

“I hope walking isn’t a problem. The truck is… _nearby.”_

It took Jervis far longer to remove himself from his seat, and it was with a shaky hand he opened the door before half way stumbling out of the truck.

Hand grabbing at his chest, more so to suppress the pain the excitement had given him, he glared over at his **_supposed_ ** best friend.

“ _I would like to forward a complaint to you and your planner, if you don’t mind,_ ** _sir_** _._ ” Not that it would change his feelings even if Crane **_did_** mind. Jervis’ genuine anger began to seep away from him at his friend placing a hand on him to help steady his steps. “ _Though I’ll wait until after you finished your rescue mission._ Oh, just **_do_** be kind enough not to bring me crashing into my grave from the **_attempt_** _.”_

“I can promise to try.”

Crane was self aware enough to realize he was still being needlessly smarmy, and he knew he should apologize, but it wouldn’t have been sincere. He hoped his actions would apologize for him, as he wrapped an arm around his shaking friend and hooked under his arm on the opposite side to steady his legs and led him into the dark alleyway, ducking into the shadows every time a police car sped by.

They made the trek in relative silence, and Jonathan was concentrating very hard on the mental image of swatting moths with a fly swatter to distract from the closeness. Relief washed over him as the truck came into view, and the excitement of the night was already beginning to ebb when they climbed into it and pulled away.

“Feeling better?” He dared ask as they neared the outskirts of Gotham.

Hatter hadn’t needed his Hare’s support for long, as it didn’t take much time for him to find his footing once more. Yet, after being so alone and in need of affection, the man couldn’t help but crave the warmth and comfort all the same. Jervis felt that warmth spread throughout him, even as the professor helped him into his truck.

“I…” Here Jervis gave pause, as his fingers twisted the fabric of his trousers as he tried to will out the thoughts after so much had happened in such a short amount of time. Finally, he sighed. “I believe I will be, yes.”

Jervis allowed this to hang in the air before he couldn’t help but voice a thought that had hung over his mind like a thick curtain.

“I… don’t know what could have compelled you, _and Ms. Harley too, I suppose_ , to come retrieve me. But… **_But I_ ** …” Jervis once more found himself hiding under the brim of his hat. He looked away in shame, knowing his emotional state would only make his friend uncomfortable. “ _Oh,_ I **_do_ ** so apologize, Jonathan. Forgive me, I’ve not been myself. Just… you will never understand how… how **_utterly grateful_ **I’m feeling this moment.”

**_Because love makes you do foolish things. This is just the first in a series of stupid actions that will only lead to our demise. You self-sabotaging twit._ **

Jonathan stared ahead at the road, purposely not looking over at his emotional pal.

“How can the tea party go on _without you_? Madness loves company, and all that.” A little too much sarcasm there. Try again. Jonathan sighed and gripped the wheel tighter.

“ _What_ **_I mean_ ** _is_ , …  friends are difficult to come by on this side of things. I value your company, Tetch. And as for Harley, she–”

Jonathan bit his tongue and thought carefully how to word his next sentence.

“She, **also.** Values our friendship. _Apparently.”_  

Jervis had known that they were friends. He had known it from the moment Crane had sat across him one stormy day, during recreation time, and helped him hatch a plan for his first ever escape. He had known this when his friend allowed him to not only stay with him, but help shape some sort of semblance of a life outside of crime. And he most certainly had felt the feelings radiating off the man, as Crane had proudly stood outside Jervis’ cell, beckoning him out from his miserable state.

But hearing such a guarded man **_say_ ** such a thing was a different matter **_entirely_ **.

Jervis remained silent, every so often letting a sniffle escape him as he tried his best to compose himself. There was much the Hatter wanted to say. He wanted to layer sentiment upon sentiment, mention how much _he too_ valued their friendship. Jervis wanted to tell Jonathan that for so long he had felt alone in the world– especially after throwing away his old life over what **_now_ ** felt like the _silliest of circumstances_ – and that the man was the only person that had let him forget that there was something _severely wrong_ with him.

Instead, Jervis Tetch said none of this; as he, in a feeble voice, muttered the only thing he could:

“ **_Thank you._ **”

“You’re welcome.” Jonathan was relieved this conversation was over. He hoped the medication wasn’t going to make this a common thing, but he had a feeling it was. He may be dealing with a grown man sobbing on the couch for the next few weeks. Was that truly better than the silence?

Despite fishing for feelings of regret, he found none. Yes. It was better than the silence.

Before they’d even made it to the barn, a light thumping sound on the roof caused Jonathan to grumble and slow the vehicle to a stop. The truck sat in the road while he waited impatiently. Soon, a crow peeked its head over the side, peering in curiously through the windshield.

“ **_Yes_ ** _I brought him!_ Be **patient**!”

Nevar playfully slid down the windshield and hopped around on the truck’s hood in an odd sort of dance, before flying off back toward home.

_“Your fanclub grows restless.”_ He grumbled, and continued on toward the barn.

Jervis had been startled at first by the sudden thumping and stopping of the vehicle. But with the presence of Nevar known, fear turned to surprise.

“…I had assumed you were joking about that.” It was hard to tell sarcasm from reality when it come to Crane sometimes. Still, Jervis watched in awe as he saw the crow fly about excitedly in the air– beckoning the truck to follow him home. “My word, **_surely_ ** this must be more from **_you_ ** returning, Jonathan. ”

Still, a smile couldn’t help but spread on his face, at both Nevar’s erratic display as well as at the barn he could now see coming closer in the distance. It was such a strange notion that seeing the rickety structure was enough to make him feel like things were going to be okay.

That he found his way back to the rabbit hole where the story began.

“Home sweet barn.” Crane announced dryly as he shoved the barn door open wide and continued on inside. This place would always fill him with a little bit of dread, but it had lessened now that it didn’t spell desolation along with everything else it signified.

He curiously approached the small table that sat between the two chairs, and noticed a pile there. At least twenty seeds of varying kinds, a leftover french fry, a white rock, and a broken but shiny plastic ring lay in a neat pile. Crane gave an amused snort; someone had been busy while he was gone. Then his gaze trailed to the other thing that had been left on the table; the book he’d picked up from Margaret’s. Memories of sitting there reading it and missing his friend only humiliated him now, and he quickly snatched the book and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his oversized guard uniform.

“It looks as if Nevar prepared a welcome home package for you. I don’t think he’s quite picked up on your dislike of seeds just yet.”

Jervis, who had been following close behind, couldn’t help but stare at the pile in both fondness and exasperation.

“It’s not the **_seeds_ ** , themselves. It’s–” At this Jervis stopped, instead laughing as if he finally caught onto the joke. “ _You’re_ **_teasing_ ** _me!_ Jonathan, what a cruel trick to play your very **_sick_ ** and **_tired_ ** friend.”

And with a huff, Hatter made his way to his chair and reclaimed it as his throne. He didn’t even flinch as Nevar swooped himself into the man’s lap, as instead Jervis choose to tip the bird’s beak up and give the creature the affection it desperately craved. Tetch couldn’t help but feel kinship at the desire.

“Mmm, in any case, _my lovely little Jubjub bird_ , I’m afraid I’ll have to turn down your offer once more. I hope you’ll understand it’s nothing against you.”

The crow didn’t seem to take it as a slight, as Nevar continued to lap up the tender scratches and pets.

All at once, Crane felt tired. The events from the day had been exhausting ones, but he’d been so high on adrenaline, he hadn’t noticed. It had caught up to him now, seeing Jervis sat back in his chair where he belonged. Mission complete, time for rest.

Jonathan removed the uniform (conveniently it had been large enough to just put over his Scarecrow costume) and hung the jacket on the back of his chair. He may find more use of it yet. After pausing far too long and standing there awkwardly as he argued with himself, he finally grabbed the book from its pocket and sat down in the chair.

What, was he just going to hide it forever? Like a horrible little secret? Oh no, Jonathan had read the Tell-tale Heart, he knew how out of hand little secrets could become. Ha ha. Literary humor. _What was he doing with his life?_

“Margaret sells books, you know.” He coughed into his hand and held the book out to Jervis across the table. “I doubt you had much opportunity to read during your time in Arkham.”

Jervis had been busy petting Nevar, that it took a moment for the man to process that Crane had been talking to him.

“Hmm?” He began, as his vision shifted away from his little friend to its master. The man’s ‘OH’ of surprise was enough to cause the crow to flutter out of his lap– giving Jervis the opportunity to grab the book being offered to him.

“‘The Complete Works of Lewis Carroll’“ Hatter read aloud, stunned once more. Jervis blinked as he tried to process its meaning. His eyes opened wide, his head jerking upwards as he suddenly recalled the quote Crane had said earlier.

“ _You’ve read it._ ” Jervis stared, as his friend across from him seemed to pointedly refuse to meet his gaze. This was enough of a confirmation for him, as it was Jervis’ turn to look away as he focused on the cover– the hard red surface showing a tiny picture of the White Rabbit looking at his pocket watch. Jervis let himself trace the gold markings of the creature, as his mind caught up with all the day’s events. Jonathan had saved him because he _missed him_ . He missed him enough that he passed the time reading the work of the very man that Tetch held in such high regard– despite the fact he knew it was nowhere close to the professor’s preferred literature tastes. Jonathan read it, _thinking only of him_.

Never in his life had Jervis ever felt so… _appreciated._

It was with teary eyes that he looked back up at his friend, as he couldn’t help but take the man in with new eyes. Dr. Leland had once said how silly it was for Jervis to have been so enamored by Alice Pleasance. How Alice– the character– was only a part of the Mad Hatter’s life for such a short period of time. She was there, and like that, she was running off again. The Mad Hatter didn’t care for Alice, and in that moment Jervis finally understood why.

Alice didn’t belong to the madness, and the real Alice– Alice Pleasance– had never understood his as well. She had never understood him, and he in kind never understood her either– though he had desperately tried. But Alice had been destined to live in **_the real world_ ** , to wake up at the end of her journey, where as **_he_ ** was lost to the whims of Time.

Lost in a circling madness, with a March Hare to keep him company.

His heart beat with excitement in his chest, and with it the realization that he would never be alone again. A smile couldn’t help but spread on his face, as he bashfully looked away.

“So,” Jervis couldn’t keep the mirth from his voice, as he peeked out from under his hat at the man who had changed his world in one swift turn. “… _What was your favorite part?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by Micaxiii, which you guys should really be following on tumblr: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com/


	11. Misery Loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jervis is feeling miserable as he slowly getting off his medication. Jonathan Crane, the Master of Fear, attempts his best to comfort him.
> 
> It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, some warnings are needed. Mental health talk, lots of crying, and very graphic depictions of what happens in 'Watership Down'. Also spoilers for that movie, if you've ever planned on watching it. Also Nazi mentioning, but that's just from Crane using it as a description. But better to give a heads up, right? Riiiight?

As that first day turned to the next, Jonathan began to not only learn to appreciate Jervis’ grateful sobbing; he began to miss it. The medication was really taking its toll on the poor man’s psyche. There was still the occasional sobbing, of course, but it had nothing to do with happiness, from what Jonathan could gather. Jervis moped around, he acted like a man awaiting the electric chair. Somehow restless and listless all at once, it was _maddening._

 _‘He even_ **_looks_ ** _less himself.’_ Jonathan thought to himself as he sat watching this mess of a man from his work desk. That could have had a lot to do with the fact he still hadn’t changed out of his hospital clothes. Jervis never did seem fond of white. Perhaps a simple change of clothes would lift his spirits.

Jonathan certainly hoped so. He wasn’t sure how to lift said spirits otherwise.

He stood from his desk and located the bag with the Mad Hatter’s things. He pulled out the clothes, shook them out, and draped them over one arm, before turning to offer them to his friend.

“There’s really no sense in wearing those hospital clothes anymore. Unless you’ve grown a fondness for them?”

Jervis had been laying on the couch, hands idly resting against his stomach. He had been staring at the bird, who in turn had been staring at him. Crane didn’t know what could have triggered this strange contest, but the crow had won as Jervis lazily looked away to put his gaze on his clothes. His frown spoke wonders.

“Oh, those.” The Hatter sat up, as he grabbed at his vibrant green shirt. His frown only worsened in its severity. “My word, it… it looks…” Crane was expecting the man to say something about the slight wrinkles in the fabric– seeing as he had just stuffed his things into his sack haphazardly. Jervis surely couldn’t _blame him_ for concentrating more on their escape– what did he want him to do, _spend half an hour making sure it was folded_?

No, instead the miserable man sighed.

“Jonathan, this looks as flamboyant as a peacock. No _wonder_ people took one good look at me and declared me mad. Do I _always_ look this…   ** _ridiculous?_** ”

“… Yes?” Jonathan raised a curious brow. Had Jervis really not realized his attire was on the ridiculous side? Was _ridiculous_ **not** was the man was aiming for? If not, what **_had_** he been hoping to achieve in this garish getup? Not that it was **bad** in the _slightest_ , it was just the Mad Hatter’s _brand._

“You… pull off ridiculous better than anyone else I know. For what it’s worth.”

Jonathan found himself wondering if the medication would leave Jervis swearing off bright colors forever. Logically he realized this was unlikely, but somehow, the thought of even such a little thing being taken away from the man he cared about far too much was enough to bring back the creeping dread.

The sense of dread only became worse as Jervis let his shirt fall listlessly to the floor.

“I… _appreciate your honesty_.” Crane wondered if that was true, because the other man’s hurt expression seemed to scream otherwise. “In any case, I do think you’re right about changing. A wonderful suggestion, yes.” The curious little nod Tetch gave appeared to be more to himself, and Crane found himself backing up as Jervis quickly stood up from his seat. It took far too much effort to prevent himself from flinching, when the man’s gaze locked onto his once more.

“Did you happen to keep my other clothes?” Tetch asked, the polite smile he gave only seeming to enhance the dark circles under his eyes. He carried on with his inquiry, none the wiser to his distressed looking appearance. “The white top and brown trousers? Surely that would be more… _reasonable?_ ”

If he was trying to convince Crane or himself, the professor genuinely couldn’t tell.

Jervis was **_preferring_ ** the thought of his drab civilian clothes now? Crane stared at the man, eyes burning holes into him as he wished very much he could look right into that head of his. The part of him that cared was worried, yes, but the psychologist in him was _fascinated._ The thought that mere medication could change a man’s entire outlook on who he was and what he liked or stood for was nearly beyond comprehension.

“Alright…” He finally managed to tear his eyes away to fetch his other clothes. “You know…” He held up the shirt and frowned at it. “We haven’t had a chance to _wash_ these. Maybe it would benefit to have multiple **sets** of spare clothes, hm?”

Not that Jonathan particularly cared to have more clothes, but Jervis did seem to enjoy clothes shopping for whatever reason. Besides, he knew getting out of this barn always seemed to lift his _own_ spirits. He handed the outfit to his tired looking friend.

“What do you say? Up for giving Margaret a visit today?”

“Margaret’s sounds…” Crane couldn’t help the snort as the other man’s face contorted, not seeming to be able to make up its mind between a pleasing expression and one of slight horror. Still, in the end his eyes landed on the clothes in his hand. “In any case, I do think you’re right about ‘ _always being able  to have_ **_more_ ** _than nothing_ ’, yes. Let me change, and I’ll be right with you.”

That’s all Crane needed to hear as he made his way outside. The professor had made it to the truck, when Nevar landed on the hood of it– cawwing angrily.

“I’m not taking him away for long, you little monster. **He’ll be back**.”

The crow didn’t seem to believe his words, as he squawked at his master again. Crane groaned.

“I’m not having this argument with a bird. _You don’t even understand what I’m_ **_saying_ ** _._ ” It was by this point that Jervis had found his way outside, now sans hospital clothes and at least not looking as sickly as he did before. (Whether it was merely from the slight addition of brown to Tetch’s wardrobe, or he was actually feeling better, Jonathan couldn’t tell.)  

Nevar was still making a racket, and by this point Crane was getting fed up.

“Tetch, tell your _feathered paramour_ that we’re only leaving for a couple of hours. _He’ll listen to_ **_you._ **”

“ _’Paramour_ ’?” Jervis frowned at this, more likely from the choice of phrasing than anything else, but it was once at the truck that he did what was asked of him. “I assure you, my dear, we shan’t be gone for long. You needn’t be jealous; I’m sure Jonathan doesn’t enjoy my touch **_quite_ ** as much as **_you_ ** do.”

As if to prove his point, he gave Nevar a quick gloved covered pet, before going towards the passenger side of the door to get in. He threw a look at his human companion.

“If you’re quite finished quarreling, _shall we_?”

 _“_ **_He_ ** _started it.”_ Crane muttered, climbing in behind the wheel. To his surprise and annoyance, the bird flew in and landed on the cup holder in between the seats before he’d had a chance to close the door. He fixed Nevar with a cold look, but the bird didn’t seem phased in the slightest.

“You can’t **_go_ **. Out!  Out with you!” He pointed out of his still open door, but Nevar stood there indignantly and cawed at him again. Crane grit his teeth, but swallowed his rage at being stood up by a tiny bird.

 **_“Fine._ ** ” He slammed the door shut and started the truck. “But so help me. If you defecate in my truck, _I_ **_will_ ** _make a_ **_feather pillow_ ** _out of you.”_

Arguing with the bird was better than dwelling on the thought of enjoying Tetch’s touch. Why had he said that? He didn’t have to say that.

Jonathan usually enjoyed the silence, silent car rides were just fine. But knowing Jervis’ current state, the silence made him worry, and worrying made him frustrated. He decided to, quite awkwardly, try and fill the silence with forced conversation.

“It’s getting colder. You might need more blankets soon.” Riveting conversation.

Jervis had been looking out the window, the bird having found his way into his lap as the man had lazily been petting the thing. Crane couldn’t help but think the man was spoiling it, if the fact that the creature was even with them at all was any indication of that. Still, Jervis shifted towards him with a look of concern.

“Only me? Not to make light of either of us–” He gestured towards his own frame, as he carried on. “But I am carrying a bit more, ah, well, _a bit more of me_ in a general sense. I won’t sneer at the thought of more warmth, mind you, but…” And at this Jervis’ eyes went wide, as if something dawned on him. “Oh! I left you alone in the loft last night! I… _I apologize,_ Jonathan. After being in Arkham, _well…_ I couldn’t help but not want to leave the cushions of the couch. Had I realized you were **_cold_ **, however, I would have followed you to bed!”

Tetch bit his lip, a tick of nervousness. So much for trying to help comfort the guy.

Jonathan had many things to say about that, and none of them were said. None of them **could** be said. He couldn’t tell the man he’d been _relieved_ when he’d decided to sleep on the couch, he may **hurt** his _feelings_ . He couldn’t tell him his presence in Jonathan’s sleeping quarters warmed him in ways he did not need nor want to be warmed. And he **_most certainly_ **couldn’t tell him he’d been there anyway, forever present in those accursed dreams that just would not stop.

And so silence won out in the end. The rest of the ride was made in silence.

The truck pulled into Margaret’s parking lot, and Crane got out. He wondered if Nevar was going to follow them inside, as well. He only hoped the bird didn’t mess on any of the things the poor woman was trying to sell, though he doubted it would leave Jervis’ shoulder.

If Jervis had minded the guest, he didn’t show it as he hopped out of the truck and followed Crane inside.Hmm, could this behavior be seen as a continuation of seeking comfort after weeks of distress? Crane had heard of different animals being used as therapy companions, some even being able to sense what the patient needed. Though, the professor couldn’t help but assume it was just the crow feeling clingy and Tetch just being too cordial to turn the wretched beast away.

How Crane came to find both pathetic creatures to be such an influential part of his life, he didn’t know.

All his musings where put on hold, as Jervis greeted the owner of the shop with all his usual politeness.

“Afternoon, madame. Life has been treating you well, i hope?”

 **_“Boys!”_ ** Margaret cried, as if she hadn’t seen either of them in years. She shuffled forward to wrap her tiny arms around Jervis’ legs, and then moved on to give Crane his own hug.

“Oh I’ve been so **_worried_ ** ! I heard on the radio _just this morning,_ a whole **bunch** of loonies from Arkham got loose.”

Jonathan couldn’t help but wince slightly at her phrasing. “I highly doubt we need to worry about riffraff from Gotham turning up **_here_ ** , Margaret. We’ve been _fine._ Thank you.”

Margaret was nodding. “Yes, but you can never be too careful! … Oh, _dear._ ..” She frowned up at Jervis. “You look so _tired! Has the missus kept you up at night?”_

Jonathan buried his face in one hand. Ohhh he could already tell this had been a mistake.

A pained look on Jervis’ face was there and gone so suddenly, if one blinked they would have missed it. Crane watched in near awe as the man scolded his features into one for polite company.

“Ah, no. Nothing like that, _I can assure you_ . Stress from work merely caught up to me, is all.” The man paused as he chewed on the side of his cheek, before continuing. “I was fortunate Jonathan saw fit to whisk me away from it all, as I do believe I may manage to find time to… _recuperate_.”

Tetch threw a quick glance at the taller man, before smiling back down at the store’s owner.

“In any case, I’m in need of an entirely new wardrobe– you wouldn’t mind being of some assistance, would you? I’m sure you must be filled with suggestions.”

The sly, knowing look Margaret was giving him while Jervis told his story had him rolling his eyes and averting his gaze elsewhere. Fantastic. Now Margaret was going to assume he was some sort of home wrecker. Oh, how this web of lies was spiraling out of control.

“You know just yesterday, I got in some things that made me think of you straight away! Let’s go take a look.”

Jonathan let Margaret lead Jervis further into the store, shoving his hands into his pants pockets and beginning to wander on his own. He snickered when he heard Margaret yelp and then laugh, exclaiming over the fact she hadn’t realized that was a **_real_ ** bird on Jervis’ shoulder.

Very little here ever managed to catch Crane’s attention, it was largely a collection of old toys, clothes, jewelry, and occasionally, furniture. But today there was something else; a television. One with a VCR player built into the bottom of it. He wandered over to it curiously. It had a card with $25 scrawled on it, and next to it sat a cardboard box filled with VHS tapes. Jonathan sorted through it, noting how most of them were children’s animated films. He wondered if Jervis would see the offer of cartoons as condescending… but at a dollar per, it was worth a shot. He brought both the television and the entire box of tapes up to the register and leaned up against the counter in wait.

Crane could only hear so much of the conversation the other two had, as the most notable aspect was an excitable caw coming from the other side of the store every so often. My, what a party he was missing out on. Tetch had yet again shown up and wooed everyone into his favor, despite the fact he wasn’t even trying– especially when he wasn’t even feeling like himself. What a gift of a human being he was. So talented.

The professor chose to ignore the fact he also counted as one who had been charmed– but it was better to ignore that. Still… Jonathan at least appreciated that Margaret was able to come up with enough meandering drivel to keep Jervis talking. Even if it wasn’t truly the case, the man at least seemed… less despondent when he had something to distract him.

If Crane allowed himself, he might begin to actual regret the fact that– despite his vast knowledge and understanding on how people functioned– he wasn’t very adept at interacting with them.

Luckily for him, he didn’t get to dwell on his shortcomings for long, as the happy little group made their way back towards the front counter. Crane was amused to see the man’s arms full of blankets, as Margaret’s hands were full with what looked like a few outfits. Jonathan was able to pick up the tale end of the conversation, as they came closer.

“Please, I insist, do let me purchase the blankets. I promise you, we’re more than able to pay for it.”

Margaret was having none of that, apparently.

“Oh no, these are quilts I made, myself. If I can donate half my stock to the shelter, I can give my boys their warmth too!” Here the old woman glared up at the tall structure of Jonathan Crane. “You should’a got ‘em sooner, Johnny. Crazy nonsense, lettin’ yourself **_freeze_ ** t’death!”

“I’m **_not_ ** going to _freeze to death_ , _Margaret_ …” Jonathan sighed.

“Well, _not now_ you won’t! These babies will be enough t'keep you **both** warm.” She replied, tapping on the register keys. “Your total comes to twenty-five dollars, boys.” Margaret stood looking up at them, a tiny smile on her face that exuded fake innocence, her hands folded on the counter top.

“Margaret, that’s. The television alone costs– here.” He handed her a fifty dollar bill and she huffed.

“Johnny, you are the most stubborn man I know. You could learn a thing or two about manners from your friend here!” But she accepted the cash, all the same.

“Mm-hmm. Couldn’t we all. Thank you, Margaret. We’ll be seeing you.”

Margaret’s stern expression couldn’t hold up to one of Jonathan’s rare smiles, no matter how faint. She smiled back, warmly.

“Good night, boys. You take care, now.”

It took two trips to get all of their purchases to the truck, and on his way out for the final time, Margaret came running out in a frantic hurry.

“Wait! Hold on! I’m old, damn you, slow down!”

Jonathan turned and met her half way. He’d left Jervis waiting in the truck, he could wait a few moments longer. Margaret was out of breath and he almost felt bad. That was, until she handed him an envelope. It had “ _Johnathan”_ written on it in surprisingly neat cursive. The smell of it made him wrinkle his nose.

“Something **_else_ ** to keep you warm tonight.” Margaret winked at him with a smirk that made him uneasy. She added with a whisper, _“It’s from Billy_ ”, and that made him feel even worse. She returned to the store, and Jonathan scowled at his misspelled name. He returned to the truck, climbed inside and, against his better judgement, he opened the envelope.

He was expecting a letter, but that was not what he found. Jonathan made a sound of shock and disgust that wasn’t quite a scream, and immediately shoved the picture in between his seat and the cup holder island.

**_“Honestly!”_ ** He shouted, starting the truck and glaring through the windshield. “Is **that** what passes for _flirting_ these days?” His anger evaporated here, and he sighed, shaking his head and backing out of the parking lot. _“I weep for today’s youth, I really do_. … Are you up for a movie tonight?”

Looking over at Jervis had been a mistake, as the look of utter mortification told him that the man had… well, at least had the smallest glimpse of what was on the photo. Horror turned to inquiry, as Crane could see some gears in the man’s mind turning.  Jervis, ever the polite company, kept quiet about it all the same; yet, Jonathan could feel the man’s eyes burning holes into him. Nevar also croaked, wings flapping in irritation– the professor mildly wondered if the crow also wanted to interrogate him.

In the end, Crane sighed bitterly.

“Alright, go ahead. I can see you have **_things_ ** to say.”

“Oh, I–” At this Tetch must have grown demure, as he started fiddling with his cap. “I don’t mean to pry. Feel free to not answer, I’d perfectly understand if you wish to keep the matter–” Crane actually managed a smile as he could see Jervis pointedly stopped himself from using the word ‘private’. Hatter quickly moved on. “ _In any case!_ Does Margaret make it a habit to… Does she often see fit to send **_provocative_** **_photos_** your way?”

Jonathan contemplated lying, or just not answering at all, but he realized that Jervis had actually been there for the start of it. Besides, perhaps a funny story would lift the man’s spirits. Comedy at Jonathan’s expense, that was a thing. Sure. Why not. He sighed heavily and began.

“Well **, you** recall Margaret assuming you were my… _female companion_ . After I informed her you were _neither_ , she began to assume I was _lonely_ . And now it seems she has the _entire town_ trying to set me up with _the one homosexual man_ for a hundred miles. He’s half my age and apparently sends photos of his _nether regions_ as his courting display, _I think it’s clear by now he_ **_isn’t_ ** _my type.”_

He finished off this story with a hint of sarcasm and a pinch of obvious agitation, and then added,

“That’s the problem with small country towns, Jervis. _No one knows enough to mind their own business.”_

Jonathan was expecting the obvious next question. He could see the man wanting to ask it, which would involve him lying. As much as he cared about the man in the passenger seat, he would never feel comfortable outright telling Tetch ‘what his type was’– seeing as his body and mind had decided it was apparently **him**.

Instead, as if to keep him on his proverbial toes, Jervis’ response was far more… regrettable.

“So it’s **_my_ ** fault you’re being harassed then. I apologize, truly. I’m sure being around somebody with my… ah, _flair_ , isn’t exactly helping the matter any.”

This depreciation was, no doubt, connected to his earlier discomfort at seeing himself in a new light.

“It isn’t–”

Jonathan didn’t even finish that sentence, choosing instead to simply glare ahead at the road. It seemed utterly pointless to try making this stubborn man feel better at this point. A man dead set on being miserable can and will find the sour side to any and every situation.

Crane knew a thing or two about that. He could sit there all day and spew compliments at Jervis, and it would do nothing but give him more ammunition against himself.

A telephone pole loomed up ahead in the distance. It would be so easy. A simple twist of the wheel. No more feeling inadequate. No more self-torture, no more anything. Just, silence, forever. Sweet, sweet silence.

They passed the pole and a soothing calm washed over him. His sense of control over his life had returned. He was helping his friend because he chose to. He was not a slave to his emotions. And he was certainly not a slave to childish impulse.

* * *

 

One extension cord later, and the television was set up in the loft. The quilts had also been tossed up there, and now the place much more resembled a giant bird’s nest made of comfort than an actual hay loft. But the comfort wasn’t for him, it was for the guy moping downstairs. Crane dug into the box of movies, and pulled one out.

“‘Watership Down’? Hm. Well, it has _rabbits_ on it.” He muttered to himself. Jervis liked rabbits, right? If watching a cartoon about happy fluffy rabbits didn’t cheer Jervis up, nothing likely would. He leaned over the side of the loft to call down to his friend.

“Jervis, everything’s ready when you are.” Ah. Goody. He sounded as tired as he felt.

It didn’t take long for the Hatter’s hat to peak above the loft, and soon afterwards the rest of his head followed. The man let out a little ‘oh’ of surprise.

“You… You’ve certainly been _busy_.” Crane felt himself grow defensive, though bit his tongue as Jervis continued up the ladder. Once inside the loft, Jervis took in the work that his friend had been working on. And Crane felt… relief(?) over the pleased smile that he found there.

“It certainly is the most comfortable I’ve seen it yet!” Here the Hatter made his way gingerly towards the blanket pile, as he allowed himself to sit amongst the comfort. “I knew when you suggested we watch things, that the television would reside up here. But I hadn’t realized you planned on going all out- quite like going out to see a picture, really.”

Crane was amused that the man instantly sank into the blankets, creating a cocoon around himself. He momentarily wondered if that was at all a subconscious allusion to looking like the caterpillar from his storybook– but otherwise left it at that. Jonathan was busy putting in the vhs tape, when Jervis spoke again.

“What _did_ you have planned for us to watch? One of your favorites, perchance?”

The sentiment of such an innocent question forced a dark, short, and sarcastic chuckle out of him. While the thought of seeing Jervis react to watching the type of films Jonathan preferred was… _intriguing,_ well…

“I hardly think you would appreciate my taste in films, Jervis. No, this one, it. Well, it was rabbits in it. I know that much.”

The VCR accepted the tape, and Jonathan settled back into the blanket pile, trying to find his own version of comfortable. Sitting there in the dark, watching a television, it was… odd. Television hadn’t been something he’d grown up with, but in college… well. Suffice to say, he did have some memories other than watching the dull shows that played in the asylum.

“It’s been a long while since I’ve watched a film.” He mused aloud, saying no more on the subject as the story began on screen. He hoped the art style would improve at least slightly.

The film started simple enough. It was a sort of animal creation myth, setting up how the different species came to have their talents, as it were. There was an intriguing notion to the idea of creatures forming their own religions, and what psychologically the purpose would be for. If anthropomorphism was the goal, Crane assumed it most likely was the rabbits’ way of dealing with what they couldn’t control, and putting higher meaning into the skills they did have. As if some god was looking down onto them and favoring their evolutionary development of being able to hear well and run away from danger.

Crane also wondered if there was any truth to the hierarchy and sense of community the rabbits shared. But that too, he assumed, was most likely the creator’s need to find commonality with the species. To make the viewers feel kinship and understanding before throwing them into the… ah, _hare raising adventures_ that might be outside their realm of comfort.

Crane’s musings were put on hold as Jervis, still very much wrapped up, leaned against him as he talked over a bit of the film.

“Oh my, a skittish little thing, isn’t he? Though, unsettling imagery of a prophesied doom aside, Fiver is quite a darling little creature. The animators did right with the little ticks and movements.”

“Mm hmm.”

Crane felt himself tense at the closeness, and forced himself to relax. He was just relieved the movie seemed to be doing its job and calming Jervis down. Or… waking him up? Yes, that felt more accurate.

The movie itself was fine, Jonathan decided. Rabbit hunting and trapping, as he’d mentioned before, were common practices in the country. He had to admit to himself he’d never once contemplated just how terrifying the world must be through the eyes of a prey animal. His mind began to drift, imagining how he may trick a mind into seeing the world this way. Little study value, perhaps, but entertaining all the same.

It was a little while later, after Jervis had been slowly but surely getting more comfortable at his side, that the man spoke up again.

“That’s nice of the other warren to invite them inside. I can’t think of many people who would invite strangers into their homes merely to retire from the rain.” Jervis hummed in content, almost dreamily. “It’s a delightful notion, isn’t it? That even rabbits could create a sense of community. That as wild as people deem them, that there is still some compassion to spare.”

Whether the Hatter was still referring to the rabbits or was making a broader statement was anyone’s guess.

Crane glanced at the man beside him with a raised brow. Jervis was being _genuine_ . He _really thought_ these strange rabbits meant them only kindness, completely missing the obvious signs that things were amiss. If Jervis truly looked at the world from this perspective… he was certainly going to run into trouble somewhere down the line.

And he didn’t like the possible implications Jervis may or may not have been trying to make.

“Hmm. _Kindness is certainly an effective bait to lure in unsuspecting prey_. Those who willingly wander into the wolf’s den for promise of shelter and tea may find themselves–”

Oh. He’d been jesting, but that. That rabbit was going to die. Jonathan clenched his jaw shut and sat very still. 

“ _Pardon me!_ ” Jervis cried out in alarm, now very much rigid against Crane’s side. Both men continued to watch the animal squirm, as blood poured from the rabbit’s mouth. Well now, that was certainly a sense of realism that Crane didn’t expect. A smile had formed on his face, before he looked down at Tetch next to him– the man wide eyed in alarm.

The excitement didn’t get to last long, as the other rabbits began digging out the wooden peg that ensnared the larger one. Once the creature seemed safe, Jervis let out a shaky sigh next to him.

“Oh, thank heavens! Is this… is this what passes for cartoons nowadays? Had I been a child, I’m sure such a graphic scene would have left me in a _fit of tremors_!”

Crane’s amusement didn’t get to last for long, as Jervis sank back against him– this time wrapping his arm around Jonathan to comfort himself.

“Surely that must be the worst of it? Just something to pump a little bit of stakes into their otherwise mundane world?”

It was hard to tell if the Hatter was convincing himself of this, or if Crane was meant to respond.

**_THE SCARECROW IS NO ONE’S COMFORT ITEM! Get him OFF OF US!_ **

While the voice was screaming in his head, the only thing that made it out was a sharp exhale. Yes, Jonathan was fully aware he was currently being used as a frightened person’s comfort thing, but he was also very much aware he couldn’t bring himself to mind nearly as much as he felt he should. Jervis had this maddening magic trick of taking his mighty fury and turning it into a flock of harmless moths.

“Clearly, they’ve established they’re not about killing off any of the main characters. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Oh, good, now he not only sounded tired, but also slightly as if he’d just been socked in the stomach.

The next bit of the movie certainly hadn’t held any excitement for Crane. For a moment there looked like something of note was about to happen. Between being chased by a murderous cat, _while on a hot pursuit of some cottontail_ , and then running into another rabbit that had looked like they had been beaten nearly to death. And now something about wanting to get up a hill? Jonathan had nearly started falling asleep at the sheer boredom of it all when Jervis started shaking excitedly next to him.

“Jonathan! Look! They made it! They found their new home!”

“Hmm, yes.” Jonathan frowned at the television, clearly unimpressed. “They managed to _hop up a hill_ , I’m _overjoyed_ for them.”

But this was still the most energetic he’d seen Jervis be in a very long time. He almost wished he’d have thought of this sooner. If watching rabbits doing rabbit things would keep Jervis from moping around the place, he’d go out and find every rabbit movie out there. Hell, maybe he’d go out and buy **actual** rabbits. They could eat them after Jervis had tired of them.

Just when Jonathan was sure the movie must be nearly over, _thank the heavens_ , suddenly the rabbits were trying to infiltrate some sort of rabbit Nazi establishment. Crane sighed and shook his head. This movie was trying far too hard to make the lives of rabbits at all interesting. The sentiment may have been cute, had it not been so irritating.

The leader of the camp must have had an ego to rival the likes of Nygma or the Penguin, if an outsider could just come in and say ‘I want to work for you now’. It would have been _laughable_ , if Crane didn’t find it so _tedious_. And then such a being coming into power, when he could be so easily manipulated… Well, Jonathan had seen from personal experience the likes of those that could get into authority– even if they barely had enough brain cells to function as a human being, let alone a leader of many. As an allegory, he supposed the film was merely showing off the dangers of such men with influence.

Still, they were _rabbits_ . And as such, it was a stretch to find rabbits _intimidating_.

While his thoughts on that matter didn’t change, the next bit of the film was certainly more exciting than _the amazing hill adventure_. Jervis next to him squirmed, seeing the creatures fight and claw at each other. Blood was beginning to be shed, and the Hatter drew Crane closer to him– his cheek resting on the professor’s shoulder.

“ _Good Lord!_ They’re foaming at the mouth!”

“So they are.”

Crane supposed he was beginning to see the appeal young men found in watching frightening films with their lady friends, if it resulted in this much close cuddling. Who knew this tactic was also effective on straight men? Ha. Ha. He was going to die here.

**_Stop being so dramatic. You’re a 40 year old retired college professor, NOT A HORMONAL TEENAGE BOY! PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!_ **

_He is breathing on me._

**_If you really minded as much as you’re insisting you do, you would have shoved him away by now. Let ME out! I"LL do it FOR you!_ **

His attention, mercifully, was brought back to the film. Admittedly, he’d missed a part of that. Why, exactly, were they trying to free the dog? That seemed like a very poor decision. But it should certainly have an interesting result.

The scenes kept cutting away from the rabbit fight, to the dog now chasing the leader of the other tribe – most likely to elicit a sense of tension. Or, as much as the film could muster, Crane supposed. Still, it was apparently doing _something_ , as Jervis kept twisting and turning his gaze away from the screen– wincing when teeth would tear garishly into flesh. Blood spewing in a surprisingly realistic way, to which Jonathan had to give the creators some credit for. He almost began to wonder how much research went into the production, and Crane smiled with amusement at the thought of artists filming such things just for the sake of art.

_Ah, humanity at its cruelest._

Of course, Crane’s musings didn’t last for long, as next the _before mentioned dog_ had made it to the scene. And what a moment it was! The beast chased after the prey animals, teeth catching them as it wrung its head about wildly. Red hues flew through the air, as the soft bellies and spines were exposed. The rabbits were easily discarded by the carnivore like the insignificant things they were. The dog merely went after its next victim, clearly enjoying the event for the pure thrill of the kill. A wicked grin crossed Crane’s face, as he took it in. My, if this was what animation was used for, _to terrify a whole new generation with the harsh truth of reality_ , then he must **_applaud_ ** the form.

Of course all glee in the scene was stolen from him, as the villain finally took in the screams of the man next to him.

“ **No!** _Nonono_ ** _no_** _!_ ” Jervis had since torn himself away as he was using his hands and blanket to hide away from the pure carnage. His voice quivered in the truest form of fear and discomfort. “T-turn it off! Turn it off **_RIGHT NOW!_** _Please!_ ”

Twisted amusement quickly turned to dread and panic as Crane fumbled for the remote, nearly dropping it before he managed to eject the tape. The bloody scene gone from the television, silence fell over the loft. Well, near-silence, anyway; Jervis was still making some sort of noise. After sitting there awkwardly, not quite sure what to say after witnessing something like that, Jonathan cleared his throat.

He had a sinking suspicion this plan had backfired horribly. His first clue was the fact Jervis was weeping again. That was the complete opposite of what he’d been hoping to achieve. Crane lifted a hand, and it hovered over Jervis’ shoulder for awhile before he retracted it.

“Shall we try a _different_ movie, then?”

“ **_Yes._ ** ” Jervis croaked softly from under his cocoon. “Yes, anything preferably without any more death, _if you would be so kind._ ”

Made sense, the idea of covering up a traumatic stimulus with a distraction. While Crane couldn’t help but feel tackling the subject was usually better than simply hiding away from it… The professor could at least admit that it was better to do so when one was at their peak mental form. So instead Jonathan grunted, as he arose from his seat and made his way over to the television and the movie pile that laid next to it.

Crane muttered to himself as he held up another tape to inspect it.

“Hmm, nothing horrific seems to be on the cover… I believe Jervis will be safe **_this_ ** time.”

_Surely, nothing with such an innocent sounding name like ‘Bambi’ could cause any harm._

* * *

 

Not long after, the television off and silent, Crane glared into the darkness as he listened to the grown man softly sniffling and crying beside him, a fresh bout of it brought on by witnessing a fawn fret over the corpse of his freshly shot mother. Children’s films were all just needlessly cruel, weren’t they? Normally Jonathan would have approved, but now he just felt betrayed. They’d made him look the fool. His plans had not been foiled by Batman this time, oh no, this time all it had taken to put the kibosh on his plans were mere cartoons with misleading titles and imagery.

 **You can’t lie there and blame yourself. We instill FEAR into the hearts of others, not** **_cheer._ **

“You’re right.” He’d said this aloud but barely noticed. The Scarecrow had a point. He was not equipped to brighten the spirits of anyone, it just wasn’t in him. Attempting to derive comfort from him must have felt like trying to warm one’s self next to an ice sculpture. Yes, it was clear to him now…

He needed to call in a little help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art, as always, by Micaxiii. Follow them. Watch them. Tell them your secrets: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	12. A Thorn in His Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After calling in reinforcements of the likes of Harley Quinn, Crane finds himself at the taunting mercy of Dr. Pamela Isley. 
> 
> There is a chance one of them might not make it out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse things that these villains say, they do not reflect the views of the authors. Food tw, some slight sexism, and teenagers being brats. Also Ivy seems to forget Bi and Pan people exist, but again, that's on her.

Sleep ended up not being an option for Jonathan that night. He thought for sure he’d be able to slumber after Jervis had stopped sobbing and drifted off, himself, but that ended up not being the case. Which was why he now found himself pacing downstairs, deep in thought. He already knew the _whom,_ it was the _how_ he was concerned with. A phone wouldn’t be hard to come by, but being a rogue herself, Harley’s whereabouts at any given moment she wasn’t in Arkham were a mystery.

A soft croaking sound jostled Crane from his thoughts. He tilted his head back to look up at the bird looking down at him, curiously.

“ _Nevar… hold on one moment._ ” An idea was forming. A ridiculous idea, but it seemed more plausible than calling every seedy bar in Gotham until he found her. He dug through an old box, being careful not to make too much noise, until he found what he’d been looking for. He pulled out an old yearbook and blew the inch of dust off the cover. He then flipped through it … shoving down the nostalgic twinge that stabbed at his heart, until he found Harleen Quinzel’s photo.

 _“Here! Come look.”_ Nevar gladly obeyed, having been watching curiously from above. He landed on the edge of the book, tilting his head to look at the photo Jonathan was tapping his finger against. “Her. She’s… a little older by now, I suppose, but you can hardly tell. Do you think you can find her?”

Nevar ignored this question, choosing that moment to groom under his wing instead.

“It’s to help Jervis.” Jonathan added, flatly. Nevar abandoned his impromptu bath and eyed Jonathan, expectantly. “Is that a yes?” The bird glanced up at the loft and made a soft cooing sound.

“Alright. I’ll prepare the note.”

* * *

 

Nevar had disappeared over the horizon toward Gotham hours ago. Jonathan sat atop the barn’s roof, watching the sky light up with its sunrise hues. He supposed finding one person in the entire city of Gotham was bound to take awhile, but his worry still grew with every passing hour. Jonathan sighed heavily, settling back against the barn’s roof, and eventually found sleep.

His nightmares broke through into reality, the sound of cawing following him as he awoke. The crow staring him in the face while still half asleep was enough to startle him, shooting up and losing his balance and footing.

“ _No no no not again!_ **_”_ ** Jonathan flipped over and began desperately and fruitlessly to claw at the roof as he slid, eventually sliding off the roof completely and landing on the ground with a thud. He lay there for a moment, staring up miserably at the mid-morning sky. Nevar fluttered down to land on his stomach, and he swiped the bird away in a bout of embarrassed rage.

“Well? Did you find her or not?” He muttered, sitting up. The bird just watched him, but he noticed the note tied to his leg now was certainly not the one he’d left with. Jonathan raised a brow and, with little difficulty, removed it. Satisfied his job was done, Nevar flew off, most likely to wish Jervis a good morning.

Two feathers fell out of the letter when Jonathan unfurled it. He watched them dance away in the breeze. How odd. He read the letter.

 

 

> _Hiya Prof. Crane! :D_
> 
> _So at first I thought your bird pal was one of Ozzy’s boys. But nope! It was from you! I think your friend got a little excited though, started pulling my hair. D: < So I pulled a few of his back. Well, feathers. Sorry, but I’m sending them back with the note! Tell your baby sorry for me!!!! _
> 
> _Also real sorry that you n’ Hatman ain’t doing so well. :c I really thought you guys would be all honeymooning by now! WELL, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, Prof! Your girl Harley gotch’er back! I got IDEAS!!!!_
> 
> _Meet ya at the bar then! ;)_
> 
> _Xoxo_
> 
> _PS: Get a phone already, ya bum. People don’t send bird messages anymore!_

There was a strange charm in the little faces and excessive exclamation marks. His inner professor didn’t appreciate them as much, but it was forgivable. He stood and hobbled back inside, shoving the note into his pocket. Mild anxiety over what her ideas may be aside, he was relieved this unlikely plan was actually beginning to take form.

It was a few hours later, nearing time for the professor to leave to start putting plans in motion, when Crane was interrupted mid-buttoning up his disguise.

“Jonathan, are you going out?” Jervis asked, stirring from his blanket pile he had been hiding under on the couch. Nevar cawed in mild agitation, as the crow had been nesting on the man’s stomach when the sudden disturbance shifted his makeshift bedding.

Jervis looked as fatigued as he felt, not having moved much that day. The Hatter had felt guilty about it– _he had been feeling guilty about a lot of his mimsy behavior as of late_ . Especially after the mood he had been in the day before, after his dear March Hare had been doing everything in his power to cheer him from his morose state. (And he had appreciated it too. More than the other man would ever grasp.) Yet, Jervis had enough awareness to realize he was acting like the Mock Turtle, weeping over everything and anything to the point it left those around him being just as miserable. And yet… oh, _oh it was just so_ **_hard_ ** _to break out of his terrible temperament._

And now, _poor Jonathan_ , he must have been doing his best to sneak away. Most likely to get some space away from **_him_ ** . Jervis couldn’t say he _blamed_ him, and the shame the man felt over his condition returned even greater at how ungrateful he was being to his _wonderful friend_.

“I am.” Crane replied, quickly adjusting his shirt collar. “A provisions run, I’ll be back shortly.” This wasn’t a lie, anyway. Neither of them had eaten in a few days, and while it was usually Jervis who made sure they remembered to eat, he hadn’t been in a place to do much of anything. Crane supposed it was up to him to keep them from starving, at least for the time being. So he would pick up the Harley, **and** the sandwiches. Solid plan. He turned to the man on the couch and almost wished he hadn’t. He looked so pathetic there, so broken, so dangerously vulnerable. And he was going to leave him alone there?

“I know food is likely _the last thing_ on your mind at present, but you’ll have to eat _something_. Do you have a sandwich preference?”

Oh, food. Yes, Jervis supposed most people couldn’t survive on mere tea alone. At least, not for long. Such a dire thought was enough to get him to nod along at Crane’s suggestion. While it was true he hadn’t felt hungry… Jervis, on some level, knew he should have at least a few bites of something or another.

But when he had to choose said thing he would want to eat… That became a tough choice, as nothing sounded desirable.

“I…” Jervis sighed, giving up on thinking altogether as he went back to staring at the ceiling instead. “ _Oh_ , anything would be fine, Haigha. Hay and ham sandwiches sound just about as appetizing as anything else at the present.”

Jervis was referencing ‘Through the Looking-Glass’, naturally. Though the thought of eating such a thing made his already empty stomach do backflips. The Hatter looked back at his friend as he was heading towards the door.

“…Do be safe.” Jervis called. He wanted to add ‘ _I’ll miss you_ ’, but even _he_ knew how ridiculously clingy that sentiment would have been. The professor would only be gone a couple hours at the most!

Crane merely grunted out a farewell, leaving Jervis alone with the bird nesting on him. The Hatter sighed slowly, stretching his hand out to pet the darling little beast.

“Well, _you_ at least haven’t tired of my company, yes? I _have_ noticed you hardly wish to leave my side.”

The simple croon Jervis received in reply was at least a welcoming confirmation.

* * *

 

My Alibi Bar and Grill was as hopping as it usually was. A few dozen patrons, and only one bar fight had to be broken up for the night. A new low time record for the joint, honestly! Harley Quinn sat on her bar stool, her hips causing the seat to swivel back and forth– the duffel bag on her shoulder swinging along with the rest of her– as she happily finished off the last bit of a red cream soda.

The woman momentarily wondered if she would have enough time to order another before Professor Crane arrived. On one hand, she was sure her dear teach’ wouldn’t mind waiting for her to finish it– and she _was_ doing the guy a favor… but _eeeeh_ , she didn’t like making the guy upset! Not that he’d ever do anything, for Harley knew just as much as she cared about her mentor, he in turn adored her sunny disposition. She never could place _why_ , but she knew it in her heart to be the truest of truths!

 _Still…_ this was quite the decision!

In the end, the blonde ended up leaning her cheek onto the wooden counter, as she whined loudly at the body taking up the stool next to her.

“Reeed, do y’think we gotta ‘nough time so I can get another drink? I’m _bored_ an’ got _the sugar cravings_!”

“I think you have all the time in the world, Harl. Professor Crane might not be the _sunniest person alive_ , but he definitely has more decency and patience than some of the other creeps you keep company with.”

Pamela Isley gave another glance around the room. She was used to the leering, but she worried for Harley sometimes. That poor girl could be so gullible. Ivy waved the bartender over.

“Another red crème, _if you would._ ” The flirtatious lilt at the end was a habit that was hard to break; even if she had no romantic interest in men, that didn’t mean they couldn’t be useful from time to time. The bartender smirked and raised a brow, eyes darting between them.

“Yeah sure, you got it, anything for you ladies.” The wink he tipped them was met with an annoyed eye roll as soon as he turned away.

Harley smiled at both the fact Ivy made her decision for her, as well as her words about Crane.

“ _Aww_ , that almost sounds like a compliment! You’re allowed t’be a lil’ sweet on the professah, y’know. _He really don’t mind so much._ In fact, I betcha some spoonfuls of sugar is just the medicine the doctor needs!” At this Harley sighed, slumping again onto the counter as she thought about her teacher. “An’ I betcha if he wasn’t so darn **_stubborn_ ** ‘bout people knowin’ he gotta soft spot for ‘em, he’d be a lot happier by now…”

She, of course, was referring to the fact Prof. Crane had, in his own way, spilled the beans about how much he cared for the Hatman. Er, Jervis. She’d have to remember not to call the guy that to his face, she didn’t know if he’d be in good spirits enough to handle her fooling around. Still, this was all stuff she knew Pam knew, seeing as she had instantly told her gal pal bff the moment she returned to the woman’s greenhouse.

Harley’s mood picked up some as the bartender returned. Giving the man a peppy ‘thanks’, she instantly went to work slurping the glass. After a few goes, she punctuated the event with a satisfying ‘ahh’.

“In any case, thanks again fer comin’ with me t’help cheer up Jervis, Red. With how the Professah’s bird message was, it kinda sounds like the guy could use all the friends he could get.”

Ivy snickered. Harley really thought she was going along for Hatter’s benefit? Aw. Ivy hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed to find out otherwise.

“Any time.”

Ivy’s gaze turned distant and soft then, as it settled on the bar top in front of her. “And y'know, Harley…” she began, following a sigh. “It isn’t always that easy. You risk a lot falling for your best friend. You tell ‘em, and they feel the same way, that’s great. But if they don’t? Well, sister, you just lost your best friend. It’s a gamble most aren’t willing to take.” Ivy shrugged and looked up at Harley with a lopsided half smile.

 

“You can understand that, can’t you?”

She was sure she could. Harley hadn’t gotten her psychology degree just because she was _cute,_ after all.

For a moment Pam thought she was seeing a bit of the actual psychologist slipping through the cracks of her happy demeanor, as Harley’s tender expression spoke wonders to how touched she was.

“ _Oh Red…_ ” Harley bent over to hug her best pal. Sniffling some, she squeezed the woman in one of her patented Harley Hugs™.

“Y’know, you should say all that t’ Crane when he gets here. I think he might feel better knowin’ ye sympathize with ‘im, n’ all. Might get ‘im to actually work up the nerve to say somethin’!”

“Yeah.” Ivy replied, flatly, returning Harley’s hug the best she was able. “You bet.” She found herself wondering if Tetch had been this clueless, and then decided there was no way the Scarecrow would have lain it out so clearly for him, so there really was no fair comparison.

Thankfully, a welcome distraction walked through the doors just then, and Ivy raised an amused brow.

“Hm. So **_that’s_ ** what he’s wearing these days, huh? Not even **_I_ **wear plaid.”

Jonathan glanced around the place; Harley had been as easy as ever to spot in a crowd. Unfortunately, so was her green-hued friend sitting beside her. Ah. Of course. He should have foreseen this. He reluctantly made his way over to the young women.

“ _Hello, Harley_ , thank you for coming, _truly._ ” He said, with a warmth in his voice that, to Ivy, felt unnatural and out of place. He gave Ivy a polite nod.

“Doctor Isley.”

Ivy nodded back, admittedly won over a little at being called doctor. It had been awhile.

“Professor Crane.”

Harley, during all these pleasant exchanges, had been quickly downing the rest of her soda. And in moments the thing was gone, and it was afterwards that she jumped up to finally return her mentor’s greeting.

“Of course we came!” It was here that she hugged the man, before quickly pulling away. “You know I’d do anything for my _boo_ !” Here the woman grinned at the pun, before having it slip off her face– genuine concern twisting her features. “How’s he doin’, Professah? _Still…?_ ”

She didn’t have the heart to repeat the delicate situation he had written to her. The fact he contacted her at all already spoke plenty on how bad Crane thought the situation was.

Crane sighed, perhaps a little over dramatically, and shook his head sadly.

“When last I left him, he’d been devoured by the blanket beast that dwells on the couch.”

“ _Couch_ ? You have a _couch_ ? And **_blankets_ ** ?” Ivy interrupted. “And more importantly, you’re making your guest _sleep on the couch_?” There was more amusement than malice in these words, but Crane slightly bristled all the same.

“Well no, actually, we’ve been sleep– _I hardly think our sleeping arrangements are of any concern to you.”_

“I look forward to seeing this little place you two have made a home. Oh, did I forget to mention? I’ll be coming along.” She locked eyes with the man, pointedly, a tactic that had served her well in the past. Looking a man directly in the eyes either flustered them into looking away, or made them dumb and exploitable with lust. She found neither emotion here. Crane held her gaze with all the disinterest of a bored feline. Had she not known of his preference, she may have been mildly offended.

“Yes, I’d gathered that. I understand completely.” Crane replied, holding up a hand to signify he did not wish to argue on the subject. He respected Jervis, he really did, but it did not need to be said what happened to the last young attractive blond who showed the man kindness. He understood Pamela’s worries on the matter entirely. But he couldn’t help but add,

“But, _please,_ for the love all that is decent, **_be civil.”_ **

Ivy huffed, and crossed her arms, defensively. “As long as Mr. Tetch keeps his hands to himself, _we won’t have a problem.”_

 _"Oh_ **_really_ ** .” That one had gotten to him a little, he hated to admit. “Keep his hands to– you **do** realize this isn’t _Mr. Cobblepot we’re dealing with_.”

“Mr. Cobblepot never kidnapped a woman.”

“He **has** , _in fact,_ and if _memory serves_ , he then proceeded to try _slicing her cleanly in two.”_

The look of surprised horror on Isley’s face told him he’d won this little spat.

“What **is** it with men and– **_Oohhh!_ ** … _I’ll be civil._ ” This was said between clenched teeth. They were in public. She’d keep her cool for now.

“Oh, _good_ , that’s all I ask, doctor. Are you two ready to leave, then?”

Ivy really wanted to slap that condescending smile off his face.

Harley had been busy watching this exchange– her expressions rapidly going from amusement to dread as she watched two of her favorite people ready to throw hands. She let out an overly dramatic sigh, hand digging into her pockets, as she quickly turned around to slap a couple of bills onto the counter.

“Boy, _am I!_ Can’t be a successful cheer squad if we don’t got the man of the hour to cheer, now can we?” She was already heading towards the door, when she stopped to give her pals another big grin. “By the way, you guys needn’t worry ‘bout Ozzy so much– I met ‘im bunch o’ times. Even kissed my hand once, like a real genteel type!”

Harley decided to keep to herself the fact that the last time she saw Penguin was when she nearly drove her car into a wall for the lark of it. They didn’t need to know **_that_ ** bit of detail, anyhow. Some jokes were funnier when they were _private_.

At hearing this, both Ivy and Crane comically wore the same look of surprise, and then angry disdain. The two shared a knowing look that said so much without saying a word.

_Mr. Cobblepot was going to get a visit from both of them in the near future._

* * *

 

There wasn’t a lot of room in the back seat of Crane’s truck, but at least it was clean. If you ignored the hay that littered the floor and seats. But it could have been worse, Ivy supposed. She leaned over to rest her head on her arms that were folded over the front seats. Harley had gotten frontsies, and no one had argued.

“So…” Ivy began, as they pulled out of the bar parking lot. “This new look of yours, it’s uh. It’s a statement, alright. I always pegged you as the turtleneck type.”

“This is a **_disguise._** The point is to **_not_** _look like myself_.”

“Plaid, though?”

“It wasn’t my choice. Jervis picked out the…” He trailed off here. But a little too late.

“He’s laying out your clothes, too? Dressing you in plaid? … _Remind me again how this is different from being married_?” This last bit was aimed more at Harley than at him, which was probably for the best, as Crane remained silent, gripping the steering wheel tight and glaring out of the windshield.

Harley sighed dramatically, sliding down some in her seat as she looked back at her pal.

“ _Yeeeah, ain’t it_ **_romantic_ ** _?_ ” She perked up some however as she caught herself thinking about her Mistah J, quickly shaking her thoughts away as she tried her best to stay focused. “But, _uh_ , I’m sure the difference might be him bein’ European an’ all. I hear guys over there are real metrosexual. Kinda blurs the lines a lil’. Right, professah?”

Jonathan had suspected Harley had informed Pamela of the situation, but now he was certain of it. He suddenly realized that he would need to relocate after this. If Harley knew where their hideout was, Joker was sure to learn of it, as well. Keeping secrets did not seem to be one of Harleen’s strong suits.

“There is **_nothing romantic_ ** about this situation. I can _assure you,_ Mr. Tetch is still very much enamored with Ms. Pleasance. This little get together is **not** about my personal life or feelings, _and I desperately need you two to understand that._ Our goal is to bring him out of this little _funk_ he’s found himself in, and nothing more. **_Do I make myself clear?”_ **

He spoke with the stern disposition of a man who’d been a father all his life. Ivy didn’t know whether to feel impressed or unsettled. She settled for the latter.

Harley wilted at having been scolded, even her pig tails seemed to droop along with her pouting.

“ _Yes, Professah Crane._ ” The woman even sounded along the lines of a child who knew their parent was upset with them. Before anyone could begin to feel bad about it, however, Harley’s demeanor changed back to one of excitement as she happily patted the bag in her lap. “That’s why I packed a bunch o’ goodies for Jervis! _Dont’cha worry_ , by the end of the night he’ll forget all ‘bout bein’ a sourpuss! He’ll be a changed man! Nobody can feel bad after a **_spa day_ **!”

 _“A spa day?”_ Crane sounded genuinely amused, Ivy thought she may have even heard a chuckle behind those words. The Scarecrow had more depth to him than she ever realized. It felt wrong somehow, like finding out the monster under your bed likes to bird-watch and collect pressed flowers in its spare time.

“My dear, you might know Jervis better than any of us already. I knew calling on you was my best bet.”

Crane’s obvious soft spot for Harley was sweet in its own way, but any man acting sweet on her still managed to put Ivy on edge. Her next jest was more to ease her own nerves rather than to bother the man.

“Honey, from the sound of things, you should have called **me** first. Luring men into bed really is more my area of expertise.”

“Pamela Isley, I **will** drive this truck off the road and end us all.”

It wasn’t so much the threat that drove an icy spike through her, but the calm tone with which he’d said it. Like a man optimistically commenting on the weather, while also slowly accelerating down the road.

“Okay, _okay_ , touchy subject, _I get it_.” Ivy put her hands up in surrender and leaned back to sprawl herself across the back seat. Not long after, they were pulling into a 7/11.

“Sandwiches?” Crane offered, shutting off the truck.

Harley was already half-way out of the truck when the question was asked, bounding her way towards the convenience store door. She yelled in excitement.

“Dibs on snacks! We’re having snacks!”

“I guess we’re getting snacks.” Crane parroted to the woman who was peeking over the seats again, and opening the door.

“Wait. … Pick me up a salad. Please.”

Crane glanced back at her, a brow raised curiously. “Not going inside?”

“I… it isn’t as easy for someone like me to keep a low profile, you know?”

Ah. Yes, that was a good point. It took a lot more than a hat and a plaid shirt to cover up green skin, he supposed. Probably for the best she stayed in the truck.

“Fair. We won’t be long.”

Inside, the sandwiches in the deli all kind of looked the same. The little sign that read ‘chicken salad’ caught his attention, though. He remembered his subconscious had apparently decided that was what Jervis would order for himself, and Jonathan had to admit he was curious to see if he’d been correct. Two sandwiches and a green salad sat on the counter, ready to be paid for, when he excused himself to go find Harley. She needed something substantial, too; she couldn’t and wouldn’t sustain herself off junk food alone.

Crane found Harley in the fridge section of the store, arms full of bottles upon bottles of chocolate milk– and a random bag of chips amongst the army. Upon seeing the older man, she gave a Cheshire Cat grin that could only be rivaled by the likes of the Mad Hatter himself.

“I got a thirst that only chocolate milk can fulfill!” Her smile slipped some. “…I’m not puttin’ ‘em back, y’can’t make me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He would rather try and tear a hyena from its dinner than get between Harley Quinn and her chocolate cravings. Not that he thought she’d actually try and hurt him, he just didn’t want to witness that pout again.

“I’ll even pick up the bill… if you’ll promise to eat a sandwich, too.” He gestured back toward the front of the store.

_As if Harley Quinn needed to be offered a good deal twice._

“Y’gotch yourself a deal!” She attempted to shake the man’s hand, a bottle nearly dropping before she quickly grabbed it midair. Harley giggled sheepishly. “ _Ehheh… Whoopsie._ ”

A quick sandwich grab later, and Harley was over at the register, haphazardly letting her goodies flow onto the counter. The young teenager at the register gave her a weird look.

“What, decide on taking half the stock?” He asked, sarcastically. Harley huffed.

“I’ll have you know I left plenty back there still–” here she leaned in closer to take in the cashier’s name tag. “ **Mark**. I’m just a thirsty growing girl.”

The teenager paused, giving her a weird look.

“…This isn’t a kink thing, is it? Like… like you’re not role playing with your ‘ _daddy_ ’ in public, are you?” Mark gave air quotation and everything, and at this Harley made a very over the top face of disgust.

“EW, yuck! _No way, Jo’se!_ That’s my teacher, y’er talkin’ about!”

“Alright, wrong kink then.”

Harley was now rolling up the sleeves she certainly didn’t have, ready to brawl with the nosy kid then and there.

“ _Why I oughta–!_ ”

She was interrupted by Crane coming up behind her and placing a hand calmly on her shoulder.The look he was giving the kid over her shoulder made him look away, nervously. Unfortunately for the kid, he had a face Crane vaguely recognized. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew Mark’s father from years ago. Many years ago. A college dropout, no less.

“Be a dear and wait in the truck, would you? I’ll be out in a moment.” He told Harley, being careful not to mention her name.

Harley nodded, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity over what was about to go down… But despite how much she REALLY wanted to know what Prof. Crane was planning… she zipped her lip on that.

“Right, I’ll go do that then.” She threw the Mark kid one last stink eye, before heading out the door. It was with the chiming of the bells that Crane fixed his gaze back on the teenager behind the counter.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble here…” Mark got to work scanning and then bagging the groceries, purposely avoiding making eye contact. Ah, the subtleties of human fear, was there anything greater? … Perhaps.

“Oh, no trouble at all, Mark.”

The teen seemed to calm slightly, but this didn’t last long.

“Tell me, how has your father been?”

“My dad? You know my dad?” Curious eyes finally met his, if only for a fleeting moment, and Crane was pleased what he’d glimpsed there.

“Mm-hmm. He was a student of mine, once.” A lie, technically. He’d never been one of Crane’s students, but he’d still attended the same college. “What is he doing these days, a butcher, perhaps? A _fast food employee_?”

“My dad’s a construction worker, and he’d good at it, too.” Ah! The first bit of confidence he’d seen. Impressive! “That’ll be uh.” He turned the readout toward Crane so he could see the amount.

“A construction worker!” Crane pulled out his wallet. “A big man, then. Wouldn’t he be _so disappointed_ to hear about his son harassing a young woman with talk of _kinks_ and the like?”

“Please don’t tell my dad. Sir. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were an actual teacher, dude, I swear.”

The waver in his words, the way he had fixed his gaze on the counter top, this was what he’d been aiming for. If respect must be learnt through fear, _then so be it._

“See to it you keep your sharp tongue to yourself from henceforth.” Jonathan paid the kid and then added with heavy disdain, _“Dude._ ” And left with their groceries.

 

While all of this had been going down, Harley Quinn stomped out to the truck– throwing open the door as she plopped inside with a huge huff.

“Can ya believe the **_NERVE_ ** of some people!” Harley cried, Ivy momentarily forgotten in the backseat. “Crane should’a just let me _sock_ the kid! **_He had it comin’_ **!”

Ivy was immediately hanging over the seat again, looking both angry and worried all at once.

“ **What** kid? What happened in there, Harl? Do we need to go back in and teach someone some manners? _Did they refuse to sell you sandwiches_?” She’d climbed over the seat entirely now, sitting in the driver’s seat with a hand on the door handle, ready to bust in there and bust some heads if need be.

It was in that moment Harley remembered that her friend was there, as she tilted her head at the last bit in particular.

“It’s not about the _sandwiches,_ Red! It’s about the **_principle_ ** of it!” Here she crossed her arms and blew her bangs out of her eyes, as she slumped onto the window of the passenger door. “First he goes ‘n insults my **_milk_ ** , and then he tried to say nasty stuff ‘bout **_Professah Crane_ ** . _He’d never do anything like that,_ **_honest_ ** _, Red!_ ” The woman threw a look at her buddy hovering over her seat, before grumbling back to the window. “Kid’s jus’ lucky Crane **_saved_ ** his hyde, I was ready t’ _murderize ‘im_.”

Nowhere during this rant did she actually explain what happened, or at least in terms that Ivy could understand. But Harley was ignorant as she continued to pout.

Ivy sat there and stared, unsure how to respond. Should she be angry? Offended? Because right now she was mostly just confused. There was a lot here to unpack, a lot of the story she was missing.

“So the kid was rude to Crane and… your milk? Harley, did he refuse to sell you milk? Oh never mind, I’m going in.”

Ivy opened the door and climbed out, just in time for Crane to come out with at least five bags of things.

“I’m going inside, out of my way.”

“I took care of it.” Crane shoved two bags full of bottles of chocolate milk into her arms, and she saw he had two more bags of them. Had he robbed the store of their entire milk supply after the kid refused to sell her some? Hm. Not bad, she supposed. “Get in, _please_ , we really need to get back.”

For once, Ivy didn’t argue, climbing back inside and setting the bags on the seat beside her. Crane got in and gave Harley a sympathetic look.

“I know. I, too, wanted to see that young man get what was coming to him. But we’re trying to _lie low_ tonight.” He set an entire bag of chocolate milk into her lap. “At least there’s this.”

Harley stared at the bag in her lap, then looked back up at the man who had just went through all the trouble for her. And even **paid** for it! The woman felt her eyes begin to tear up, as she threw her arms around the man who had to awkwardly take the hugging assault.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” she cried into his ear, sniffling all the while. “Sometimes people jus’ make me _so **mad** _ , that I don’t think straight! I coulda ruined the whole evenin’ jus ‘cause some **_lil’ twerp_ ** didn’t know how t’keep his mouth shut!”

Harley rub her cheek against his more boney one, before pulling herself away as she wiped away her tears.

“Okay, I’m good. I’m together now, honest. Sides… _there’s no use crying over spilled milk anyhow._ ” At the groan she received from Ivy in the backseat, Harley found herself smiling in delight again. And already feeling better, she went to crack open one of the drinks from the bag.

An hour later, the truck began to slow, and Ivy looked out the window with a smirk.

“An old, abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere? Yup, that feels about right.”

“Oh, if only it still looked so _abandoned_ and _unsettling_ on the **_inside_ **.” Crane replied with a wistful sigh, pulling in and parking  around back. This was for show, really. He’d grown quite accustomed to living semi-comfortably. He especially appreciated the not freezing part. Not that he’d ever readily admit any of that.

“Entrance is around front. Oh and um.” He pointed a few yards away in front of the truck, where a small wooden outhouse sat. Harley had downed quite a few bottles of milk on their way there, it was best they knew. “The washroom facilities.”

“Charming.” Ivy commented.

 _“Functional.”_ Crane replied. “Let’s hurry inside, who knows what he’s convinced himself of in the two hours he’s been left alone.”

Harley leaned in close to Ivy and tittered a little as she whispered _‘that’s the poop shed_ ’ with all the childish glee she could muster. Ivy rolled her eyes, but otherwise followed the two of them inside. Both were curious to see just what sort of place the Master of Fear would house in as his evil lair.

* * *

 

Jervis Tetch, all the while, had been laying listlessly where he had been when Jonathan had left. During the time left alone he tried numerous times to strike up conversations with Nevar. Sometimes actual conversations, like asking the crow his opinions on such matters as: ‘What do you think Jonathan is doing?’ ‘Do you think there’s a chance of rain?’ and, most regrettably ‘Do you think there is any way for somebody to simply not exist for a while and come back when they’re feeling better?’

Nevar merely crooned and croaked out responses. And sometimes tried feeding Jervis a few more seeds for good measure. These, of course, were refused.

Eventually, in the spirit of trying to cheer himself up and at least feel a little like the Mad Hatter he was named after, Jervis tried quoting things at the crow simply for the sake of it. And it was during this that Crane had returned home.

“ _’Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,’_ “ Jervis smiled softly at this in mild amusement, as Nevar twisted its head to listen intently– a part of him wondering if the corvid was confused at the mix up in species. The Hatter carried on: “ _‘When I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you’d have deserved it, you little mischievous darling! What have you got to say for yourself?’_ “

The crow flapped its wings slightly, and at this Jervis held up his hand.

“ _‘Now don’t interrupt me! […] I’m going to tell you all your faults. Number one–’_ “

Tetch never got to finished his game, as he was interrupted, _for real this time,_ by the barn door opening.

“Oh! Jonathan, you’ve returned!” At this Jervis sat up in his seat, eager to have his dear Hare back– _no offense to Nevar’s lovely company_. “Was your outing successful, pray tell?”

Jonathan was honestly surprised to hear the greeting; he’d half assumed Jervis would be napping by now. But that was fine, him being awake would make things move along more quickly.

“You could say that. I brought more than just sandwiches, I hope you don’t mind.”

Ivy was quick to follow, not even looking at Jervis, scanning the place, instead. “Now **this** I _wasn’t_ expecting. I can **_tell_ ** you had help redecorating.” Now her eyes fell on Jervis with a raised brow and a smirk.

 

Jervis was instantly put on edge when Dr. Isley made herself known. Sitting up rigid in his seat, a look of terror crossing his features, as his hands instantly went to cover his clearly exposed top. (And by ‘clearly exposed’, it meant he had two buttons undone, and his white collared shirt was all uneven.) Still, his mortification only grew, as Harley Quinn also popped inside. The blonde woman gasped, hands on her cheeks in excitement as she took in the men’s shared home.

“It’s… It’s like a doll house!” Harley’s eyes practically sparkled, as she went to look and peek at all the things closest to her. “No fair! How come you guys get t’have a pretty place!”

As if suddenly reminding herself the whole reason they were there, Harley turned her gaze onto the Hatter as she smiled her widest and brightest smile.

“Hiyah, Jervis! **SURPRISE!** Happy t’see us?”

Jervis, meanwhile, has been busy scrambling himself to his feet, almost tripping over the blanket wrapped around himself. “ **Excuse me!** ” The Hatter cried out, face a very deep red hue as he quickly made himself towards the ladder of the loft. “Please, _forgive my rudeness_ . I… I wasn’t expecting **guests**!”

Jervis finished scurrying the rest of the way into their bedroom, glad that the hay piles were large enough to obscure his state of undress as he quickly went to change into something more decent. Oh, he really _wished_ Jonathan had thought to warn him! But, but maybe this hadn’t been planned– _and they had never once spoken of guest protocol with each other._ **However** was Jonathan to know the… the **_decorum_ ** of such things! Maybe it was a cultural situation they’ve run into once again?

Having changed into a clean pair of black trousers, Tetch was nearly finished buttoning his shirt when he peaked out from his hiding as he called down to the three who were no doubt waiting for him in confusion.

“Nearly finished– _I’ll greet you all_ **_properly_ ** _momentarily_!”

Down at the bottom floor of the barn, Harley frowned as she felt her posture slump.

“Gee, d’ya think we scared him?” She asked, concern written on her face. “He kinda looked like we were gonna eat ‘im, _or somethin’_!”

“Don’t take it personally, Harley, Jervis was just a little surprised at being caught in such a _state of undress._ ” Sarcasm. It was strong here. Ivy spun around to stare at him.

“ _Undress_ ? He calls **that** _undressed_ ? You mean he never goes shirtless? No shorts? Have you ever even seen his _ankles_ ? Oh, honey, it’s _no wonder_ you’ve been so frustrated.”

Jonathan looked as if he was ready and willing to murder her right then and there. Had she gone too far? … Nah.

 _“Ms. Isley, I am_ **_not_ ** _going to warn you again.”_

“Alright, fine, I’ll back off. But listen. If you need me to test the waters for you, find out if he’s gay or not, just let me know.”

 _“What is_ **_wrong_ ** _with you! I_ **_did not_ ** _invite you here to_ **_seduce him!_ ** _”_

“You didn’t invite me at all, Mr. Crane…”

“Have some wine.”

“… What? Anyway, if you’re lucky, _I won’t_ **_be able to_ ** _seduce him_. See how that works?”

“I understand the concept completely, _that isn’t the issue!_ The plan is to make him _feel better,_ not _mortify him!_ ”

“ _Mortify?_ Just what are you implying, Crane?”

It seemed there would be no end in sight for this angrily whispered argument taking place in the middle of the barn.

Harley, meanwhile, had went from amusement at the exchange to utter horror as the two people she cared deeply about began arguing about sleeping with the Hatman. This, of course, brought along mental images of seeing all three of them naked– and while Pam’s form she had seen up close and personal many times in Arkham’s communal showers, imagining the two older men butt naked and proud, sent a wave of terror and disgust through her like nothing else had ever done before.

Harley clamped her hands over her ears, getting between the two before they really did try murdering each other, as she whispered yelled along with them.

“ _Can we please stop talkin’ about bangin’ Jervis now?!_ ”

It was, of course, in this moment that the Mad Hatter had popped out from the loft, sliding down the ladder with some ease– as he had been practicing the maneuver– when he landed at the bottom. While not sporting his flamboyant colors, he did at least put on a grey vest to feel more presentable.

“There, I’m feeling much better now. Hello-” And here the man paused, seeing the angered looks between Crane and Ivy, as well as the pained expression on Harley’s face. He cleared his throat, composing himself to the best of his abilities. “I’m… not intruding on anything, am I?”

 **_“No._ ** **”** Both Crane and Ivy nearly shouted at once, both still very angry, but at least now they turned away from each other. But at the very least, Jonathan had enough wits about him to know they were on the wrong track. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and glanced over at the mask in the corner. He’d been oddly silent all day.

“Harley has something to show you, if I’m understanding correctly. But why don’t we have a bite to eat first.”

He gladly turned to retrieve the bag that held their sandwiches and salad. Ivy said nothing more on the subject, and for that, he was thankful.

Jervis sighed dramatically. For a man who had clearly read Lewis Carroll, Jonathan didn’t even know the basics of a _proper greeting_. Still, while Crane went to grab the food, the Hatter made quick work to greet the guests.

“ _How do’ye do_ , ladies. Many apologies for my earlier, _ah_ , attempt to excuse myself.” He made his way over towards Harley, as he gently picked up her hand and gave it a light squeeze and a gentle pat. “Dr. Quinzel, truly a pleasure to meet you on the other side of the looking-glass. Jonathan has spoken many a time fondly about you.”

“Aww, you talk about me, Professah?” Harley called back at the man her grin ever wide. She turned back towards Hatter: “And call me Harley, Jervis. Any friend of Crane is a friend o’mine now too!” It was after saying this that she leaned in to make another attempt at loudly whispering. “ _Y’know, he talks_ **_fondly_ ** _of you_ **_too_ ** _._ ”

To which hearing this made the man look away– Jervis’ ears growing warm at the thought of his Hare thinking so highly of him. Tetch cleared his throat, before letting go of the woman’s hand.

“Mmm, yes, in any case, _Harley it is then_. And Dr. Isley!” At this the Hatter went in to shake hands with her as well, but was quick to stop himself at the fierce glare he received. Ah, yes, a look to rival the Queen of Hearts herself. Jervis instantly stopped himself, as he very much wished to keep his head as long as he could, before patting the sides of his legs in an awkward attempt to diffuse things.

“Ah, yes… It’s also nice to have your company. Please, _do sit down_.” It was then that the man recalled his blanket pile on the couch and floor, and yet again he was swept up in a wave of embarrassment. “Oh, **oh my** , let me take care of that! Pardon the mess! Please, sit!”

And it was then that Jervis scurried away again, as he quickly folded up his blanket and put it neatly on the table where he had been keeping his things.

Ivy side-eyed Jervis suspiciously. He was, quite possibly, the most polite man she’d ever met, and a prude to boot. **This** was the guy who had kidnapped a girl, mind controlled dozens of people, and tried chopping Batman’s head off with an ax? Why was this man even in Arkham? For being a Mad Hatter, he didn’t seem mad at all. Just your average pervert, if the tales were to be believed.

But maybe it was all an act. Maybe he was **so** mad, he was dangerously cunning, a master of deceit. Well, she wasn’t going to fall for it, and she would make sure Harley didn’t, either.

She sat as she was instructed, though, and thanked the professor when he handed her a green salad and a plastic fork still in its wrapper. The sandwiches were passed out, and she cleared her throat.

“It’s a cozy place you two have, here.” She nodded up at the loft. “Is that your room, Mr. Tetch?” She met Crane’s warning glare with a wide-eyed look and a little shrug, as to insist she was just making polite conversation.

Jervis had made his way back to his chair, having just sit down and was about to pick up the sandwich that was left on the coffee table for him, when Ivy’s inquiry caught him off guard.

“Oh! Well, no, _not exactly_ _,_ madame. This is, of course, Dr. Crane’s home. He’s merely been kind enough to let me bunk with him, _as it were_ , until…” Here Hatter trailed off, looking unsure of himself. “ _Until he tells me otherwise_ , I suppose. I must admit, I’ve been a greedy little thing, feeding off the kindness of our host.”

Tetch finally went to pick up his sandwich. Making a noise of surprise as he read the label on the packaging, he blinked a few times before throwing a fond look towards Jonathan.

“Chicken Salad! However did you come to guess my _gluttonous weak spot_? Surely preferences can’t be psychoanalyzed down to such a minute detail?”

“Obviously not.” Ivy responded immediately, not looking up from her salad, but smiling all the same. But not even her snide remarks were going to deter Jonathan’s good mood at being correct.

“A lucky guess.” Jonathan replied with faux modesty, but the satisfied half-smirk gave away his satisfaction in himself.

“Oh, **_I_ ** don’t think he minds you being _a greedy little thing_.” Ah. Jonathan knew she wouldn’t be staying quiet for long. “In fact, I’m sure he wishes you’d help yourself to–”

“ **_Harleen, dear child…_ ** ” Crane interrupted, loudly. Why? Why was she doing this? What had he ever done to her, why was she making this experience even more painful and humiliating than it had to be? “Tell me, how have things been for **_you_ **? How has life on the outside been treating you?”

Jonathan much preferred _silent meals_ , but if Ivy was going to insist on filling this time with her incessant mockery, he’d much rather replace it with something else. _Anything else._

Harley, who had luckily been busy eating her turkey club and guzzling down another bottle from her chocolate milk collection to notice the horrible implications being made by her BFF, stopped mid-chew as Crane addressed her. Swallowing audibly, she finished with the biggest of beams.

“Pretty good, actually! I mean, Mistah J’s still broodin’ it up, poor fella. BUT! I check in wit’ ‘im every couple o’ days t’make sure he’s gotten plenty t’eat. Me and the babies,” she was referring to her pet hyenas, no doubt, “ have been stayin’ with Ivy– been oodles of fun! A real barrel o’laughs, ain’t that right, Red?” The look she threw her pal didn’t last long, as she went back to talking to her mentor. “ Then, ‘course, there was plannin’ the break out wit’cha t’get Hatman– er, **_JERVIS_ **– outta the slammer. OH HEY! That reminds me!”

And with that she finished up her sandwich in a couple more bites, as Harley swung her bag into her lap, patting its outside. It was Jervis’ turn to receive her infectious smile, as she continued talking.

“ _Betcha been wonderin’ what goodies I got in here, huh_?”

Jervis finished chewing, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Mmm, yes. I’ll admit, I’ve been mildly curious.”

“Well, **_wonder no more!_ ** ” The blonde woman then, with a big flourish, unzipped the duffel bag. Like a child on Christmas morning, she began to pull things out with a frenzy. “Professah Crane mention’d y’weren’t feelin’ so hot, and I know when **I’m** feelin’ like the saddest of sad clowns, a lil’ pamperin’ is just what the doctor ordered. And I’m a certified doc’tah, so I know what I’m talkin’ about!”

The Mad Hatter tilted his head inquisitively, looking over the different things she pulled out of the bag: facial masks, foot scrub, nail polish in an assortment of colors… Things never seemed to end, and Jervis couldn’t help but feel like he was being spoiled already just from the offer alone.

Jervis cleared his throat, doing his best to stop himself from another bout of crocodile tears before they came on. Looking away demurely, he twiddled nervously with his thumbs.

“Yes, well… I suppose it would be hard for me to turn down such an appealing offer– _especially if the good doctor recommends it._ ”

Ivy stared at Jervis in disbelief, her salad completely forgotten by this point. She turned this look over to Crane, gesturing silently with an upturned palm toward to the guy who’d just nearly burst into tears over the thought of a spa day. She was pointedly ignored, and this would not stand.

“Alright.” Ivy stood, and this, at least, got Crane’s attention. He eyed her warily as she approached, and scowled when she wrapped a hand around his wrist. “We need to have a little chat, professor, let’s go.”

“Unhand me, I’m not going anywhere with you, Dr. Isley.”

Ivy let go and crossed her arms, but gave him a look all the same. “It isn’t really a conversation **meant** for everyone’s ears, but I won’t hesitate to have it right here, anyway, _and I think you know that.”_

Cold, dread-filled realization flashed across Jonathan’s face, and he reluctantly stood.

“Jervis, Harley, feel free to finish eating and get started, Dr. Isley and I will return shortly.”

He followed Ivy out the door and half way around the barn, when she suddenly spun around to face him, immediately diving into her point.

“You’re telling me you still think that man is straight?”

The cold glare this earned her made her shiver. Master of Fear, there he was.

“No. _I’m telling you it doesn’t matter.”_

Ivy sighed and rolled her eyes. “Dr. Crane, _will you stop?_ Ms. Pleasance has no interest in him, he **will** move on eventually, _trust me._ ”

“You just **_refuse_ ** to see the **point,** don’t you? **Not even Alice matters.** Let us say, hypothetically, **_against all odds and probability_ ** , that Mr. Tetch **was** interested in men, **_and_ ** completely forgot about Alice. Do you _really_ think **_this_ ** would be his first choice? **_You cannot date Fear Incarnate, Dr. Isley.”_ **

Ivy raised a brow, and shook her head slowly. The pitying look she was giving him was infuriating.

“You really believe you’re unlovable, don’t you?”

 ** _“I know I am!_** That, doctor, _is the_ ** _point!_** Do you know how **hard** I’ve worked for this? Transforming myself into a being who _thrives off the darkness_ , a man who isn’t going to _starve_ while waiting on _human kindness?”_

Silence. Ivy wasn’t even looking at him anymore, gaze cast down to the ground, chewing on her bottom lip. He was about to turn and leave, the argument won, when she spoke up again.

“All you’re doing is proving them right, you know.”

“… **_Who_ ** ? What are you going on about _now?_ ”

Ivy looked back up now, locking eyes with him. “Everyone in your life who ever made you feel unlovable.”

Ivy caught a glimpse of actual sorrow in the man’s eyes, but it was gone so quickly she would later doubt seeing it at all. Crane crossed his arms, sighed, and turned his back to the barn to lean against it.

“I needed to call in _help_ just to make him _smile.”_ The anger was gone from his voice now. He sounded tired now, resigned. Good.

“Yes.” Ivy joined him in leaning against the barn. They both stared up at the starry night sky. “You drove for two hours and exposed your safe haven to two rogues, all because you want this guy to be happy. _You have a heart._ professor, you’re just a little out of practice in _using it_.”

More silence. This was fine. Finally Crane turned his back to her and said, “I appreciate the sentiment, Dr. Isley. But it may behoove you to drop the subject now. You may have an immunity to my toxins, but my scythe is perfect for cutting down persistent weeds.”

Ivy watched him leave for the warmth of the barn, a smirk on her face. The tone with which he’d dealt his threat wasn’t exactly threatening. “ _Ouch.”_ Was her only reply before he disappeared back around the corner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the egg man  
> They are the egg men  
> I am the walrus  
> Goo goo g'joob  
> Check out art by Mica too: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	13. Quite the Conundrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night goes on, as Harley begins her spa day treatment on Jervis. The gang's in for a surprise when an unexpected visitor makes themselves known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst... The reference Harley makes belongs to Bugs Bunny. Ain't she a stinker?
> 
> Some mild violence tw in this chapter, by the by, mostly from Crane delivering threats.

It had been strange, seeing Ivy suddenly grab onto Jonathan’s wrist and demand a sidebar conversation. Jervis Tetch had watched this go down with unease, finishing up the rest of his meal before putting his attention onto the fellow blonde across from him.

“Should… should we be concerned at all?” He stared at the barn door, biting his knuckle momentarily, before turning back. “It was… all rather sudden, _wouldn’t you say_?”

Harley merely shrugged.

“Eh, probably nothin’ t’worry ‘bout. Pam is probably playin’ one o’ her jokes on him again. _She’s been layin’ ‘em on_ **_thick_ ** _all night._ ”

Jervis had a hard time imagining Dr. Isley as someone who joked around at all, especially with that dour disposition of hers. However, he supposed a Tiger Lily’s bed needn’t be so solid _all_ the time, and that having Ms. Harley in her company was sure to soften even the _toughest_ of flowers.

Still, worry remained, even as Harley snatched his attention once more.

“So! If you’re ready t’live a lil’ bit on the _ol’ luxurious side_ –” here the woman patted the sofa next to her, beckoning Jervis to sit. “C’mon, you’re a guy who looks like they’re in need of a facial!”

Jervis chose not to take that as an insult, as he had to admit it **had** been some time before he could acquire any of his preferred treatments. Sitting down gingerly next to the woman, he picked up said product from the pile and smiled as he read ‘apricots’ on the label. _Oh, how lovely!_ Ms. Harley certainly seemed to have a grasp on his preferences. He watched on curiously as the younger woman pulled out a couple of hair clips.

“T’keep it out of your face.” Harley elaborated. “Y’mind?”

“Please, go ahead.”

The Mad Hatter leaned forward slightly, doing his best to avoid eye contact as she came in and gently moved his bangs to the side of his face.

“Your hair’s getting pretty long, Jerv. If I had known, I would’a brought along some scissors t’help out.”

Jervis decided not to inform her that they owned a pair, as, _no offense_ to her skills he was sure she had… The idea of anyone of a short acquaintance coming at his face with something so sharp seemed to be the _unwisest of ideas_. Besides… it would be _highly unfortunate_ to have an unfavorable hairstyle if she happened to have a habit of making things as asymmetrical as her costumed attire tended to be. Patterns were **one thing,** hair was a **different matter entirely**.

Still, fighting back the urge to quote Alice, _about how rude it was to make personal remarks_ , Jervis sighed.

“It **is** getting rather on the long side, isn’t it? I’ll have to ask Jonathan if he may know of any beauticians around these parts. Otherwise, I may have to grow accustomed to a more _unsightly look_.”

“Aww, whatcha talkin’ about? I think it makes you look cute.” Jervis felt himself growing bashful again, and at this Harley laughed. “ _Are you blushing?_ **Ha!** Wow, I think Professah Crane was right ‘bout you bein’ a… a… well, _bein’ easy t’work up_.”

At this Tetch huffed, feeling his face grow warmer in discomfort.

“Oh, _hush now_ . Surely you and your dear schoolteacher have more to do than tease a poor old Hatter.”  At this Harley laughed again, pulling away to take the bottle from Jervis’ hands, as she poured some to apply to his face. This gave the man enough courage to ask his next inquiry. “ _While we’re on the subject of the man…_ ”

“Yeah?” Harley egged on, curious as she began putting some of the cool gel onto his face. Jervis once again looked away.

“Do excuse me if I’m being so bold, yet, you mentioned earlier that Dr. Crane talked to you about… _well,_ **_me_ ** .” Here Jervis paused, trying his best to find the exact words he was looking for– since he didn’t exactly have the funds to pay them to mean extra. “He… hasn’t said anything…. **_unfavorable_ ** _, has he_?”

At this Harley stopped what she was doing, as her face read genuine surprise.

“What? **No!** Professah Crane hasn’t– _why wouldja ask a thing like_ **_that_ ** _?!_ ”

Jervis grew silent, his hands absentmindedly gasping at his trousers as he did his best to explain his way out of the _awkwardness_ they suddenly found themselves in.

“ _’ I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’_ “ Regret over having dared to ask such a ridiculous thing grew inside him– Hatter knew his Hare would never gossip behind his back like some silly school girl. Before Harley could ask him to explain himself, he carried on. “Please, do forget I even asked. I oughtn’t have done so in the first place…”

It was Jervis turn to be caught off guard, as Harley suddenly squeezed his cheeks– the Mad Hatter having turned into a Fish-Footman as his lips puckered in a way that must have looked very outlandish.

“ **_Madame_ ** _, please!_ ”

“Alright, _you listen to me,_ **_Hatman_ ** ,” Harley glared down and her eyes demanded he keep his attention on her. “Dr. Crane has done nothin’ but give compliment after compliment about’cha. He said you were one o’ the smartest and kindest guys he knows– _and you know that ain’t an easy thing t’say about people in our business._ ”

Jervis felt himself ready to apologize, when Harley gripped his face harder.

“ **_Nuh-uh_ ** _, not jus’ yet._ Listen up, and listen up **good** ‘cause I ain’t gonna say it again.” Her features soften. “Crane really cares aboutcha. I’m a doc’tah, I know jus’ tellin’ ya to cheer up already won’t be a miracle cure n’ all that. But… understand that he ain’t doin’ this outta pity. He missed ya real bad while ye were locked in the looney bin, an’ now he feels bad that, _as smart as the guy is_ , he can’t even figure out how t’make his best friend **_feel_ ** _better_ . So if yer gonna be hard on yourself… at least know you’re not bein’ a burden on the guy, **_okay?_ **”

The Mad Hatter’s face was beginning to hurt, especially having been put in such an extreme contorted position for long. But the tenderness he felt welling up inside him was enough to push past it. Finally allowing himself to look away, he found his posture relaxing into this mad woman’s touch.

“ _Yes…_ _I believe I can at least accept that_.”

“ **Good!** ” It was then that the woman’s Cheshire Cat grin returned. “Now that we got **_that_ ** outta the way, we can go back to our fun ‘n games!”

It was in this moment, hand still squeezing Jervis’ cheeks in a comedic and awkward fashion, that Crane returned.

Crane froze in the doorway. With his current forlorn mood, his first thought was that Harley was assaulting his partner in crime. But Jervis’ relaxed posture spoke otherwise. Harley was merely being Harley. That was: _strange._ And Jervis was taking it with grace. Not unlike a hound dog patiently lying there while a puppy gnawed on its ear.

_And Poison Ivy had been_ **_worried._ **

“Ah, I can see you’re in _good hands_ , then.” He commented with an amused, mildly cruel smile, and continued on to sit in his chair. This was sure to be a show he didn’t want to miss.

Jervis had initially been embarrassed about being caught in such a state– that man and his despicable ribbing would someday be the end of him! Still, once Harley had removed her hand from his face, he relaxed as he held his nose up high with mock disdain.

“Keep it up, and I’m sure your _dear pupil_ wouldn’t mind having a chance to indulge _you_ with the gift of exfoliated pores.”

At this the woman gasped, as Harley turned her attention onto Crane.

“Now there’s an idea! **Can I?** Please? _Please, please,_ **_pleeeease_ ** _?_ With a cherry and sugar on top?”

She was pulling out the puppy dog eyes on this one. The woman was going in with everything she had. This was her one shot, and boy, you could bet your _sweet patootie_ she was going to make it count!

Crane had to admit, Jervis had gotten him with this one. Siccing young Harleen on him, cruel indeed. But while it was true he had a weak spot for the girl, _he still had his limits_. Nothing in this world could make him willingly submit himself to that level of humiliation. The difficult part was going to be looking into those big blue eyes and telling her so.

“ _Nevermore._ ” Nevar croaked from the rafters, flying down to land on the table next to Crane. The man let out a sigh of relief, and pointed to the bird.

“What _he_ said. But _thank you_ for the offer just the same.”

Ivy coming back inside and sliding the door closed behind her was a welcome distraction from the disappointed wilt from Harley. Startlement raced through his chest as he noticed Ivy was making her way to the chair opposite of him. The thought of anyone else sitting in that chair felt wrong and it unsettled him. Crane quickly stood and gestured to the chair.

 _“Please, be my guest._ ”

Ivy looked between Crane and the chair with obvious suspicion. “What’s wrong with that one?” she asked, pointing to Jervis’ chair. There was a flurry of flapping as Nevar hopped over into Jervis’ seat and immediately nestled into it, making a low sound that resembled faint cooing laughter.

“It’s taken.” Crane replied simply, with a shrug. With no valid argument left, Ivy sat in Crane’s chair with a little huff.

Jervis had watched the scene unfold– going from amusement at the crow being Crane’s savior, to being confused by the man’s refusal of allowing Dr. Isley to sit in his seat. While Jervis would never be as suspicious as the man hating vixen, it was still enough to cause him to quirk his brow.

“Jonathan, you can’t _possibly_ be considering standing the whole while?” The dead pan look he received told him that was indeed his plan. Tetch sighed in exasperation. “Honestly, your silly games are on the verge of masochism.”

“ _You have no idea_ ,” Jervis could hear Ivy mumble from the seat next to him. ‘ _Curiouser and curiouser_ ’, he couldn’t help but cite in his mind. The man was just about to inquire what she could have meant by that, when Harley had finished digging into her bag for what she was looking for.

“S’okay! Since Professah Crane doesn’t wanna get all dolled up…” Here she gave a quick glance to him, Crane’s expression telling her that the answer was still ‘no’. Harley shrugged her shoulders, and then went on to describe the next plan of action. “Then I’m thinkin’ nails. Clean ‘em, trim ‘em, paint ‘em, you know the deal.” Harley nearly startled the Hatter when she grabbed onto his right hand. “Alright, let’s do this. Ya got a color preference, Jerv?”

At this Jervis blinked in puzzlement. While it was indeed true that he liked his manicures-- more so for the cleanliness and satisfaction it gave him-- the man wasn’t one to go out of his way and paint his nails. Not that there was anything **wrong** with the notion, no. Mix the fact he liked the clean look of peach flesh with the realization he was usually wearing his white dinner gloves… There really was no reason to go through all the labor.

Still…. Jervis couldn’t outright mention any of this. Not when the girl seemed so excited…

“Oh, surprise me, if you would.” Hatter waved his other hand around with a dramatic flair. “You’re the artist, make me your muse.”

Harley Quinn’s eyes lit in a way that filled even Jervis up with childish glee at how much his choice of words pleased her.

“ _Ooooh_ , Jervis! Them’s some dangerous words– **but you said it!** _No takesies backsies!_ ”

“ _Perish the thought._ ”

And at this Jervis relaxed into the couch, as the young woman started with the nail clippers. He watched for a few minutes, as she delicately did her work. But being the social creature that she was, Harley couldn’t help but start up the conversation once more.

“My, I bet you hatters live, _iiiinteresting_ lives.” Jervis knew the tone of someone referencing things when he heard it, and this only amused him more as his manicurist went on. “I said t’my girlfriend jus’ the other day: ‘ _Gee, I bet hatters are interesting_ ’, I said. The places you must go, and the things y’must see. _Myyy stars!_ ”

While not getting the reference, Jervis did his best to play along.

“ _Mmm_ , I’m afraid you might not find it all that lively.” He admitted. “Not many people come to request work from hatters these days. The costs for such labor being more than ten shillings and a sixpence, after all. You’ll be sorry to hear Jonathan and I mostly spend our time wallowing around the place– terribly boring for young ladies who crave the thrills of the city.”

Jervis’ mask covered face lit up in realization, as he snapped his head towards the man hovering behind the bird-filled chair.

“Oh! Though I **_do_ ** suppose we should try going to the farmers’ market again sometime in the near future. Having you run off to Gotham every time you crave a bite would **_hardly_ ** be worth the risk of getting caught.”

“Mm-hm.” Jonathan replied, clearly not nearly as thrilled about the idea as Jervis had been. As always, Ivy was happy to chime in to help fill the awkward silence that would have otherwise been left.

“Wallowing? _The farmers market?_ Shouldn’t you two be working on Halloween plans? I mean, everyone **assumes** that’s why you broke Tetch out of Arkham…”

“There **aren’t** any plans.” Crane replied, quickly. This earned him an incredulous look from Ivy.

“Since when does the Scarecrow _not do Halloween_?”

“Since _now._ Things… _came up_ , and now it’s far too late to start any planning. Maybe next year, _I don’t know.”_ A beat of silence, and then,

“What if I helped?” The eye roll she received told her plenty, but she wasn’t deterred. “No, I’m serious! These things would be a lot spookier if they were alive, _don’t you think_ ?” she added, tapping a finger against the jack-o-lantern on the table beside her. **_Now_ **Crane looked interested, mouth opening and closing a few times before he was actually able to say something.

“That isn’t even _possible_ . This isn’t _science-fiction_ , Dr. Isley.”

“You’re talking to a biologically altered mutant, Crane. If anyone could do it, it’d be me. I’ve cultivated plenty of sentient vines and the like, why not pumpkins?”

Excitement had begun to bubble inside of the man at the very implication of toxin-spewing pumpkin beasts. He did his best to push these feelings down, but it wasn’t easy. “That’s. I. Perhaps. We’ll talk about this later.”

Ivy resigned with a shrug.

Jervis, meanwhile, had been equally surprised.

“Surely you aren’t pushing things aside on **_my_** account?” He could feel the squeeze Harley was giving his hand in warning, but he carried on. The Hatter was a man on a mission. “Jonathan, you should really consider Dr. Isley’s proposal. What sort of holiday would it be if the Master of Fear broke his tradition?” Jervis paused. “Besides… you _did_ imply a promise of showing me how you Americans celebrate Halloween.”

Harley had been busy filing his nails, when she nearly dropped the board in shock.

“ **You’ve never celebrated Halloween?!** What kind o’ backwater place did y’say you were **from** _again_?”

Jervis smiled.

“ _Why, Wonderland, of course_.”

“Not very filled with wonder, if y’don’t even get t’dress up and eat candy!” The woman argued. At this Harley turned her own attention to her mentor. “Now y’gotta do it, Professah. The man didn’t have a **CHILDHOOD**!”

Jervis felt inclined to dispute that claim, to insist he had a _very_ lovely upbringing, _thankyouverymuch_. But in the end he decided against it, as any fuel to convince Jonathan to give into his own wants for a change were far more important.

He’d been dogpiled, he felt so _betrayed,_ three sets of expectant eyes were on him, what choice did he have? Jervis wasn’t nearly well enough for a caper, but they still had a little time.

And the Wonderland comment had left him hopeful. Was it too much to hope for that a mere spa day was the miracle cure he’d been looking for? Yes, probably.

“Well, it’s. Halloween with _the Scarecrow_ isn’t exactly your average, _traditional_ celebration… it isn’t really a, _prime example_ of the holiday…” He was floundering, he sounded so foolish, and he hated it. He was finding it difficult to argue against something he actually really wanted to do.

“And _what_ about this guy makes you think he’s interested in average _anything?_ ” was Ivy’s reply, gesturing toward the man in the middle of a facial and manicure. _“It’s the sweater vest, isn’t it?”_

At this Jervis felt like he had been slapped in the face.

“What… _what’s wrong with my sweater vest?_ ” Hatter knew he was pouting, and he couldn’t help but allow it to twist his visage. If personal remarks were so easy to throw around with his current company, then he supposed he, too, could be impolite and show his displeasure. Harley threw Ivy a glare.

“Nothing! It’s looks great on ya!” At this she leaned in close, as she raised up her hand to cover her mouth as she gave a faux whisper. “ _You jus’ kinda look like a suburban dad with 2.5 kids, is all._ ”

Jervis was about to ask what exactly was wrong with that, having a family and supportive career were things he had desired ever since he was a child himself, after all. Who **didn’t** long for the fantasy of a white picket fence, and the implications that came with it?

Although… considering where the Hatter was now, the things he had done and seen… _He supposed that was all a pipe dream now._

Jervis wilted some, looking off in the distance as he chose his next words carefully.

“… Regardless, _as a denizen of Wonderland_ , one can’t **help** but be drawn towards the outlandish. A night of festivities, even if branded with straw, would certainly be a welcomed change of pace.” At this he punctuated his thoughts by passing off his most convincing smile towards Jonathan. “ _Oh,let’s do it_ , March. _That is_ , if you can **possibly** come up with any **uses** for this _tired old Hatter_.”

It came out as a purr, though it was not at all intentional.

Ivy didn’t know whether to laugh or clap. She was the queen of manipulation, and she felt as if she’d just met her match. That had been smooth, almost cruel. Considering Jonathan no longer seemed to be breathing, she guessed it had hit its intended mark. Bullseye, right in the heart. _Or somewhere else._

There was no way the Mad Hatter didn’t know. Ivy decided then and there he most certainly did, and was just using Crane’s weakness against him. Clever. Impressive. And mildly threatening.

“Well? **_Use_ ** him, professor, he’s practically **_begging_ **you.”

She expected one of Crane’s patented death glares, but received none. He didn’t even look at her. Instead the breath that had been caught in his chest came out in a trembling sigh and he buried his face in one hand. It worked as a gesture of exasperation, but Ivy wondered if he was really just covering up a blush.

“Alright. _Fine_ . We’ll make plans. But if you’re not feeling better by then, _it’s off._ We’ll stay here and, I don’t know, _decorate_ and _gorge ourselves on candy_ , or something.”

“ _Aww._ ”

 **_“Don’t.”_ ** Crane growled, still refusing to even look at her.

Jervis had a face splitting grin at hearing this. His charm hit home, and it was in that moment he truly did begin to wonder about the accusation Jonathan once gave him over the idea of him being able to politely convince people to do his bidding, even without his cards. Not that it was exactly a **bidding** , mind you. Encouraging his March Hare do something for himself for a change was _the least_ he could do after all the man had done for him.

These thoughts were interrupted, however, by Harley laughing awkwardly.

“Y-yeah, so, _Harley distraction!_ **I’m done!** ” Harley held up the Hatter’s hands, surprising him at the pleasant pastel colors there. He had been so distracted by the conversation, he hadn’t even realized how far she had gotten. Harley carried on. “I dunno if you’re a fan, but y’seem like a cotton candy kinda guy. What d’ya think? **_Love it_** _, right?_ ”

Jervis blinked curiously down at his nails. The young woman had, indeed, outdone herself. A light pink near his cuticles, fading out into a baby blue. While, again, Jervis didn’t see the point of being so elaborate…

“They’re lovely.” Hatter replied, genuinely meaning it. “While carnival connections aren’t something I partake in often, one must admit the colors are quite charming. _Thank you, my dear._ ”

Harley Quinn cheered in her seat, bouncing slightly.

“Ahhh, **I KNEW IT**! See, I gotta eye fer these sorta things. Like I can see people’s auras, or somethin’. And you jus’ screamed ‘pastels’. Soft colors for a soft boy!”

Jervis felt himself blushing, huffing some at the woman’s choice of phrasing. He felt himself grow redder as he heard Ivy snickering from Jonathan’s chair.

“Harleen, please,” he reprimanded, “one would _hardly_ consider me a child.”

“Nothin’ wrong wit’ bein’ a lil’ young at heart, Jerv. We’re needed t’help keep the sourpusses from dyin’ from boredom!”

Hatter supposed he couldn’t argue with that logic. He was just about to say so, when he was interrupted by Harley once more.

“Alright, stay still so ya don’t smudge your nails. I’m gonna take your shoes off!”

“ **Pardon?** ”

Jervis shook his head as he blinked away his startlement. Ms. Harley certainly had a way of bringing about confusion. These feelings only grew as the woman hopped off the couch, and began removing his shoes and socks.

“Well it would _hardly_ be a mani-pedi without yer feet, now would it?” Harley grinned up from the barn floor. “Though, first I’m gonna rub ya down a lil. Hope ya like peppermint!”

Jervis grew mortified at her phrasing of ‘rubbing him down’, but quickly snuffed that thought out before it could proceed to grow– all of this was perfectly innocent, after all. No, instead he focused on the fact his feet were about to be touched, _and with it was going to be the exposure of one of his well guarded secrets…_

Harley had barely begun rubbing the cool cream onto the sole of his right foot, when Jervis squirmed– he clamped down onto his bottom lip, to do his best to prevent any noise from escaping.

Unfortunately for him, it had been heard, and now it was too late. Surprise turned to the widest smile he had seen from the blonde woman, as even her pigtails seemed to curl with pure bubbly excitement.

“ **You’re ticklish!** ”

“ _Nono, not at all._ ” Jervis quickly brushed the comment aside, sitting straighter into the sofa. This composure was quickly lost as Harley’s fingers lightly touched him again– and he couldn’t help the little uncomfortable giggle that left his lips unwillingly.

“ **You are!** ” This was when she turned her smile towards her best gal pal. “Red, he’s ticklish! _It’s so cuuute!_ Can we **keep** ‘im? _Huh huh?_ Can we?”

Jervis was about to protest– the impropriety of somebody owning another person coming to mind, despite the irony of him thinking it. Unfortunately, these words never had the chance to be said, as Harley was attacking him once more.

“Oh Harley…” Ivy responded, clearly fighting the giggles, herself. “Men make **_terrible_ ** pets. They’re _filthy_ and _piddle on everything you love.”_

Jonathan was smirking, very obviously amused, a brow raised as he watched the scene. Jervis’ patience and resolve was incredible. The puppy had moved on from gnawing on his ear to something much worse, and he was still just taking it.

“Ah. So it’s **that** kind of party. Now I don’t feel as bad about not being invited.”

Jonathan and Ivy’s smiles vanished immediately, their attention turned to the guy standing in the doorway, holding a Starbucks cup in each hand. The Riddler. Agitation boiled into anger that bordered on hate inside of Crane at seeing him here. Nygma wasn’t even someone he despised; it was the nerve of the man just barging into his place like it was his own, the mere thought of a guy like him knowing where he was staying.

Crane didn’t remember even walking over there, but suddenly he was shoving the intruder into the wall and shouting into his face.

“ **_What_ ** **do you think you’re doing here?** **_How_ ** **did you even** **_find_ ** **this place!”**

Riddler remained, infuriatingly, unfazed by the man screaming four inches from his face. He paused, casually bringing up a cup and sipping loudly on the straw. The sound of it was unsettlingly loud in the otherwise silent barn. When he finally brought the cup back down, he was grinning.

“Your little birdy told me. I figured he **must** be yours, so I just followed him!”

Crane made the mistake of looking back at Nevar, who was still nestled snugly in Jervis chair. Suddenly Riddler was pushing the other cup into his chest, which caused the less weighty man to take a startled step back and take the cup out of human reflex. He stared down at the cup of warm liquid before turning his scowl back up to the unwanted guest.

“I even brought you a coffee. I would have brought enough for _everyone_ , but I have to admit, you never seemed like the company type to me.”

The others in the room had momentarily found themselves silent as they watched Crane deal with the intruder. Villain code didn’t allow for others to just show up to lairs unannounced. _It just wasn’t done._ The atmosphere of the room having gone from jovial delight to the jolt of having another come upon them without warning, and it was enough to have caused a disturbance. Harley Quinn, however, was quick to recover first as Nygma made his way across the barn to where the living arrangement was.

“Hiyah Eddie! Whatcha doin’ all the way out here?”

“A simple riddle, Harl. You’ll **have** to do better than **that** .” Riddler then, with a flourish, sat down in Jervis’ chair-- Nevar only just able to flutter out of the way as he squawked at the man in agitation. Crane knew how he felt, as the crow flew over to him to seemingly glare from the professor’s shoulder. Nygma went on. “I came in search of clues, naturally. Riddle me this: _for what purpose does the Scarecrow have in breaking into Arkham and letting free half the men’s ward?_ Forgotten equipment? To spread city wide panic? _Although,_ I seem to have part of my answer: hello, **Tetch**.” And with this the man tipped his bowler hat politely towards the man on the sofa.

Jervis smiled back, though still slightly embarrassed to have been caught mid-tickle assault.

“ _Good evening_ , Dormouse. Come to join our tea party, have you?”

“Is that what you call this?” Riddler couldn’t help but jest. “If I had known, I would have happily accepted your numerous invitations. Tea’s not to my taste, _but the dishes on display?_ ” Here the man flashed a smile towards both the ladies-- provoking an eye roll from Ivy. “Well, **those** I wouldn’t mind partaking.”

“Enough with the teasing, Edward.” Hatter quickly replied, before the Tiger Lily became disturbed by the new addition to the flower bed. “As lovely as it is to have your company, you really _ought_ to have sent word. You gave us quite a fright. But, what’s done has been done, _I suppose..._ ”

Jervis couldn’t help feeling dread on Jonathan’s behalf. As much as Edward was his friend, having guests show up unannounced really wasn’t the making of good company-- _or keeping the pleasant temperaments of the more easily riled individuals._

Riddler merely shrugged as he started removing his gloves.

“I’m not worried. People tend to be more **bark** than **bite** these days. No doubt **age** catching up to us.” Edward held out his hand towards Harley who was still sitting on the floor. “Well, don’t make me **beg** for it, Harley. If you’re giving out manicures, I want mine.”

Harley jumped to her feet, gasping.

“ **Well why didn’tcha say so**!”

And with that the perky blonde grabbed onto Riddler’s suit, using her forgotten strength to manhandle the guy onto the sofa next to Jervis-- who found his hand covering his mouth in alarm at the suddenness. Riddler _oofed_ , glaring up at the woman.

“Hey now, watch the **merchandise** , would you?”

“Sorry!” Harley exclaimed, not looking sorry in the slightest, as she went straight to work on her next victim.

Jonathan wanted nothing more than to shove this man out into the cold and slam the door in his face. He had the _nerve_ ! To intrude upon him in **his** home! And _insult_ him! Not that he’d expected anything less from Nygma. But why now? Why here?

He couldn’t really make him leave now, though. Jervis seemed to genuinely enjoy his company, and Harley most certainly did. Not to mention, he’d already decided earlier he’d need to find a new place soon. This little encounter merely solidified the decision. At least Dr. Isley seemed to be as miserable as he was.

“ _Uhg_ ! Can you **believe** this guy?!” She wasn’t even attempting to be polite or quiet about it. “Okay. I could **really** use some of that wine now. _Please_.”

“There isn’t any.” Jonathan replied, miserably, standing with arms crossed, glaring daggers at the intruder that had already somehow stolen the show.

“You know I can hear you two, right?” Riddler said loudly enough not to make them forget of his superb snooping abilities. After this the man leaned slightly towards Jervis, making direct eye contact with the Hatter as Harley remained busy filing his nails. “And you have him quoting from your book now? However did you make the Scarecrow housebroken?” It was with his free hand he poked at the now dry mask on Jervis’ face, humming in thought. “Hmm, never mind. I’ll figure out the latter in due time.”

Riddler turned back towards the woman doing his nails.

“I think I’m in the mood for black today, Harl. And do you have any more of that ridiculous stuff on Tetch’s face? I might as well have the works.”

“No black, sorry.” Harley had packed with Hatman in mind, after all. “Oh! But I got purple!”

“ _I’ll allow it_.” Nygma sighed, acting as if he was the king of the barnyard castle. Jervis merely shook his head in amusement.

“You should know by now Jonathan hardly does anything unless he wishes to. He’s a man of hardy constitution.” It was his turn to point his nose away, disdain showing at the implications the man made at having ‘broken’ the professor. “And his manners have always been impeccable. ‘ _Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything you liked […]_ ’  ”

“Debatable.” Riddler said bluntly, not missing a beat. “Time isn’t on anyone’s side, and neither is _he_. But… I’ll admit, you certainly have a way of making friends, don’t you?”

Hatter shrugged.

“I like what I get, and I get what I like.”

“Seldom means the same thing though, does it?” Riddler scoffed in delight, as if making his own joke out of the continued Alice references. Harley’s whine distracted them both back to her.

“C’mon now, give Professah Crane a break, Eddie. He really IS a good guy to his pals. Stop pickin’ on him, and he might start being friendly wit’ ya too.”

“Ah, but that’s the riddle, isn’t it? You were easy to crack– a connection to the good ol’ years, what better gift for the man who desires to teach than a faithful student?” Nygma had enough sense to leave off on the fact both Crane and Quinn most likely had family issues they were working through. Answers weren’t to be had by a broken nose, after all. _How would his handsome mug survive?_

“No, “ Riddler went on, turning his calculating attention onto Jervis as he tapped his free hand against his chin . “You’re the broken puzzle here. Riddle me this: what makes a man of straw drawn to a maker of hats? _Hmm, I wonder, I wonder…_ ”

Oh no. Anger was quickly hardening into dread in the pit of Jonathan’s stomach as he stood there listening to the three talk about him as if he wasn’t there at all. Nygma was one of the last people he needed knowing about this, and would be the first to figure it out on subtle clues alone. He needed to derail him, and fast.

“Not _everything_ is as _complex_ as you insist on **making** it, Nygma. Is it so _strange_ that I should happen to enjoy the company of _a fellow scientist?_ ”

Riddler scoffed.

“Oh I **know** you enjoy his company, I’ve seen you two talking and playing chess in the recreation room enough to have deduced **that** much. But I find it hard to believe you risked your own hide in breaking the Mad Hatter out of Arkham to _play board games.”_

When Jonathan didn’t seem to have a response to this, he eagerly continued.

“So, what is it? You must **_need_ ** him for something, right? One of your seasonal Halloween escapades, maybe?”

Relief. Sweet, sweet relief. Yes, sure, let him know they were planning a Halloween caper, that was far preferable, a welcome distraction, even.

“He **is** good.” Ivy said, raising a brow but otherwise distracted with her nails.

“Mm.” Jonathan replied, not wanting to feed Nygma’s ego any more than he needed to. He couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, Ivy was actually trying to help, though he had no idea why.

“I thought as much,” Riddler said with pride, a roll of his head towards Jervis’ quirked brow gave him a moment of pause, but he continued on with his smile. “Everything’s falling into place. Brick by brick, a foundation is forming before my very eyes. Can you see it, Jervis?”

The Hatter rolled his eyes at the man’s dramatics.

“I’m afraid my eyes aren’t strong enough to see nothing, Dormouse.”

“Nothing, or no one?”

“We lost ‘im, folks.” It was Harley who spoke up this time, using one of her hands to pretend it was a plane before it crashed and exploded. With the added sound effects. “I think you’re riddlin’ yourself into a corner there, pal.”

Nygma scoffed. Just because the others couldn’t speak his language, didn’t mean he wasn’t onto the right track. _Speaking of languages…_

“So, Crane,” He turned his gaze onto the villain, eyeing him up and down before going for gold. “I noticed you quoted to Pam when you didn’t think I was noticing. She brought up the topic of wine having been mentioned, which means you cited again earlier in the evening. Specifically from one character in particular. Tell me, when did you decide to take on the role of the March Hare? _I’m awfully curious_.”

What? No! What had happened to talking about Halloween? Had that only been a piece of Riddler’s true suspicions? This was a dangerous game they were playing. Jonathan had a strong urge to refuse to talk about the matter further, but he knew Edward Nygma wasn’t the type to give up until he found his answers. He glanced at his scythe that was propped up in the corner. He could do it, he could just get rid of him once and for all.

But he didn’t want to. As much as this narcissistic fool got under his skin, he had some sort of respect for one of the few Arkham inmates who could keep up an intelligent conversation. A cooling numbness settled over him then as he realized that, at least to Jervis, Nygma suddenly implying the point Crane assumed he was gunning for would only make him sound foolish. Maybe even make him doubt himself in the face of it.

“I didn’t _take it on_ , so much as I was **assigned** the role. But, _in his defense_ , Jervis has _impeccable_ taste when it comes to character casting. I can certainly see the similarities.” He paused here to raise a brow. “I haven’t heard **you** complain about being called _Dormouse._ ”

Jervis had instantly perked up at the compliment.

“You think I have good tastes?” He asked modestly. All giddiness he may have felt was quickly pushed aside as Nygma rudely waved a hand in front of his face to silence him, as he glared at Crane.

“Ah, but I’ve also not fed into his **delusions** by having the urge to tell stories about children trapped in wells. He calls me **that** because he considers me a friend and in his inner circle– _good tastes on his part, I do agree_ – where **you** have been his hare. Don’t think I didn’t notice in the second book the Dormouse was thrown away, and only Hatta and Haigha remained!”

Harley had been putting the finishing touches on Riddler’s nails, as her brain was trying to catch up with what the accusation actually was.

“…Wait, are y’tryin’ t’say you’re jealous or somethin’? _Riddler green with envy?_ ”

The man went wide eyes at the very idea.

“What? Don’t be a **dunce** , doctor– _I couldn’t care less._ ”

“ _Mmm,_ but being forgotten is surely a harsh blow for a man with such an ego.” Ivy smirked as she flipped her hair to the side. “Is that it, **Edward?** Are you afraid your _fan-club_ is being stolen away from you by a man with the personality of a chalkboard?” She eyed the professor next to her. “ _No offense._ ”

Jonathan decided to let that insult slide considering the woman who had dealt it very well could have just saved him. Between Harley and Ivy, they’d managed to turn this around on the Riddler, and he was thankful for it. _They were such good children._

“Denial is _such_ a double edged sword, you know. It may protect you for a little while, but in the end it really only hurts you.”

Riddler scowled. “ _Oh_ , **I’m** being **lectured** about _denial_ by **_this guy_ ** now? _Irony at its_ **_finest,_ ** _folks!_ ” He threw out both hands to gesture toward Crane, while giving the other guests the glance around.

“I don’t need my _toxins_ to know what **you** fear, Nygma. Being forgotten, ignored, replaced, _anything but the center of attention._ You’re attacking _me_ because you’re _afraid_ , when you should _really_ be talking to _Jervis.”_

Riddler stood from the couch abruptly. “Would you **stop** trying to psychoanalyze me! This isn’t about _me,_ it’s about **you!** ”

“Oh, when is it **ever** _not about you…_ ” Jonathan rolled his eyes.

Nygma was prepared to fight back. If Crane was ready to punch below the belt like some street urchin with a degree, **then so be it** – _psychologist were always trying to twist things onto geniuses just to try and compensate for their own lowly IQs in comparison!_ Riddler opened his mouth, ready to say what was **REALLY** on his mind… When the sound of laughter broke through heated bickering.

Jervis was laughing. Not only was he laughing, but he was shaking in his seat. Using one hand to cover his face, and the other to grip at his side, his mirth grew from mere chortles to full flown laughter that could probably rival the likes of Joker’s venom.

Harley, wide eyes, stared up at the man from the floor.

“ _He’s lost it, hasn’t he?_ ”

This only made the Mad Hatter’s fit worse, as tears could be seen streaming down his face.

“ _Oh, oh no, e-excuse me-_ -” Jervis was yet again interrupted by his own tittering, as he wipes his eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just… It’s rather ridiculous, isn’t it? Here… Here I had been feeling so miserable, _so destitute and alone._ And… and now I have a room full of people arguing over something as simple as the pecking order of how **_I_ ** view our relationships.”

He looked up at his fellow rogues, expression showing true fondness as his gaze went from one to the other. From Harley, to Nygma, to Ivy, and finally landing on Jonathan– where the warmth swelled inside himself to the point he felt like he was going to burst and pop like a helium balloon. His eyes began to sting again, this time not from a sudden fit of the giggles. Jervis quickly looked away, fanning himself as he forced a laugh at the absurdity of his dratted off-kilter emotions getting to him again.

“Oh, here I go again. **Pardon** . Here I had thought I lost so much when I fell down my rabbit hole, _and all I’ve done is gain a cast full of characters_ **_just_ ** _as_ **_odd_ ** _as_ **_I_ ** _.”_

Jervis didn’t even flinch when Harley threw herself on him, hugging the man half to death.

“Now, _don’t go gettin’ all sappy like that, Jerv._ If.. If you keep on cryin’, then **I’M** gonna start cryin’, and then we’re gonna have a **DISASTER** on our hands!” She squeezed the man tighter. “That’s it, I’m adoptin’ ya, Hatman. _You jus’ got yourself a Harley for life!_ ”

The Hatter sank into the embrace, not finding himself wanting to leave the comfort of the touch– _even if it was rather unfortunate to have the young woman pressing him so tightly against her chest._

Still, he shook from his strained mirth.

“Adopt me, miss? I question the legality of staking claim to a man ten years your junior.”

“Since when have I ever cared ‘bout the law?” Harley argued back.

It was an odd feeling, watching his friend laugh, seeing him emerge from the dark, lonely forest where he’d spent the last few weeks of his life. Perhaps things weren’t completely better yet, but this was definitely the biggest improvement he’d seen yet.

 _“Is he always like this?”_ Ivy whispered from beside him.

 _“Medication withdrawals._ ” He whispered back. _“But yes. Kind of.”_

 _“What are we whispering about?_ ” Riddler whispered, having backed away from the awkward teary hug fest happening on the couch to join the other two instead.

 _“Medication withdrawals.”_ Ivy whispered.

_“Ah. Yeah, I figured that much. … So anyway, back to my point. You’re into him, right? Tell me I’m right.”_

Uh huh. There it was.

 _“A ridiculous notion. In fact…”_ His gaze shifted to lock eyes with the masked man beside him. _“If anyone were to_ **_make_ ** _such an asinine accusation, they may end up in so many pieces, identifying their body will be the most puzzling riddle of this century.”_

Riddler was grinning obnoxiously, even in the face of such a gruesome threat, as he had just received the confirmation he’d been looking for. “Noted.” He replied, even as the Scarecrow left them to approach the couch. A brave move, all things considered.

“I, _apologize,_ Jervis. I really should have _realized_ that what you _truly_ needed were _your peers,_ not a bunch of _ridiculous cartoons._ ”

Jervis Tetch had plans to argue back. They had both been in the dark about the nature of what was on those tapes– _and why in the world would the man feel the need to apologize for doing his best to lift his spirits?_ Had he not realized that going through the effort **alone** , of allowing him to cling onto him despite the fact he _knew_ the man wasn’t one for physical affection? It had been **selfish** on his own part, Hatter could readily admit that, but it was hard not to _grasp_ at what he **desperately craved**.

Of course, none of these sentiments had a chance to escape, as the metaphorical stage floor was yet again stolen from him by young Quinzel screeching in excitement.

“ **You guys got cartoons?!** ” Harley desperately looked around, trying to see just how in the world that could be true. _Hay, furniture, books._ None of those were a tv! “Y’tellin’ me we coulda been watching stuff this _whole time_ ?! Whatcha guys got? _Where y’guys hiding your tv?!_ ”

Hatter was now being shook in a different way, as Harley grasped both his arms as she tried to interrogate the information out of him.

“I, well, I don’t quite know **what** we have. Jonathan was the one in charge of everything.”

“ _Where?_ **_WHERE?!_ **” Harley cried, growing almost manic in her frenzy.

Jonathan winced at seeing Harley shake the poor man. The puppy had officially gone too far, it was time to intervene before she gave the poor hound dog a heart attack.

“Harley, dear, **_please_ ** .” A hand was set gently atop her head. “An interrogation is **hardly** necessary; the viewing room is upstairs. In the loft. You’re welcome to it, I suppose.” He used his free hand to point up at the loft.

Although he loathed to admit it, she and Dr. Isley would likely have to spend the entire night anyway. The Bat tended to do its hunting at night. Sending them out at this hour would just be needlessly unfair.

Harley didn’t need to be told twice as she bounded towards the loft. Flipping over the couch, and doing a cartwheel towards the ladder, it didn’t take long before she was in their bedroom. Screams of elation were heard, and in no time at all Quinn was poking her head out of the loft entrance as she grinned down at Ivy.

“ **Red, they gotta comfort nook!** They got pillows and blankets out the _wazoo_ in here!”

She ducked back inside, and the noise could be heard of digging through the vhs collection. Gasps were heard every so often, but the others decided it best to let her be and cool down before joining her.

Jervis sighed, looking up graciously at his friend.

“ _Thank you._ ” He mouthed silently.

Jonathan gave Jervis a very tired, barely there smile. While he enjoyed Harley’s company, her extreme levels of excitable energy had a way of making him feel exhausted when exposed to it for an extended period of time. The smile gave up trying to be a smile, falling back into a neutral frown, as he felt eyes on him. He turned to face Ivy.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, it’s just. I didn’t _expect_ this, I guess.”

“Expect **what,** exactly?”

“This!” Ivy gestured around the entire barn. “ **Any** of this. You guys turned this old barn into a cozy little home, and **_you._ ** I’m used to seeing you either _sulking_ or _ranting about being a God of Fear_ or something. I didn’t even know you _had_ a soft mode.”

Jonathan opted to ignore the soft comment.

“I can’t very well be the Master of Fear **_all_ **the time.” he spat, defensively, gesturing toward the mask on the wall without even thinking about it.

“And that’s fair.” Ivy stood and smiled. A kind smile this time. “I guess it’s just been… kind of _nice_ getting to see the old school teacher Harl talks about.” She made her way over to the ladder, pausing at the bottom to add, “Nice to know he’s still in there somewhere.”

Nygma, who had been uncharacteristically silent for awhile, didn’t hesitate to follow close behind Ivy. She stopped half way up the ladder to glare down at him. “Touch **either** of us, and lose your hands. _Creep_.”

“Ivy, please, _I’m a gentleman!_ ” The grin and tip of his hat did nothing to convince her,

Jonathan sighed, mildly uncomfortable at the thought of Nygma crawling into the place he slept, but too tired to argue the matter. He turned his attention back to Jervis.

“Should we join them?” He kind of hoped he’d say no; that was a lot of people in a small space. But he’d put up with it if asked to.

“ _Mmm, eventually._ ” Jervis hummed out in reply, looking back up at the loft where all the others disappeared to. He patted the sofa next to him as he turned to gaze back up at his friend. “I believe we could _both_ use a moment of peace. Do sit.”

Crane did as he was instructed, though was tempted to reclaim his chair. Hatter hummed _‘You are Old Father William’_ to himself, no doubt in jest towards the both of him, as he began peeling off the remains of his face mask. He was nearly complete, when he spoke up again.

“She has a point, you know. You… really **are** full of surprises.” Jervis sighed, looking down at his hands as he began fiddling with them. Slumping forward in his seat, he carried on. “You didn’t need to do any of this, you know. The daring Arkham rescue, allowing me to stay with you, nursing me back to health.”

His list was put on hold as he took in a shaky breath.

“You’ve done… so much for me, Jonathan. I know, niceties aside, you really **do** prefer your space. And yet, _here you are_ , opening your home to the detriment of your solitude. While I apologize that you must put up with such a _motley crew_ , dear bellman… I, I don’t have the **faintest** idea how to even **begin** showing my gratitude.”

Crane was quiet for awhile, stuck between not wanting to talk about this particular subject, and needing Jervis to understand. He’d need to choose his words carefully, as to avoid making both of them uncomfortable.

“Your presence here is as much for my benefit as it is for yours.” Oh, this was difficult. Jonathan stared hard at the wall so he wouldn’t have to look at Jervis. “I enjoy my solitude because it is my comfort zone. It’s all I’ve known for a very long time. The most sociable period of my life was the time I spent as a teacher, _and even then,_ my only friends were the occasional student I’d see for a few hours each day.” He was getting off track again. Talking about these things was so frustratingly difficult, and there was no reason it should be, which made it all the more frustrating.

“ **_My point is,_ ** I didn’t _realize_ how **loud** my own thoughts had become until you were carted off back to Arkham. You have such a… ” His hands waved through the air as he tried and failed to find the words to describe Jervis’ _muchness_. He eventually gave up, sighing loudly as his hands dropped back into his lap. He finally allowed himself to look at Jervis, and that only made his next words all that much harder to push out.

“Since knowing you, solitude is no longer as comfortable as I once found it. My reasons for keeping you around stem far more from _selfish greed_ than from a place of kindness. _So trust me when I say_ , any pleasure you derive from this arrangement has been paid back in full just by you _being here,_ and being… **_you.”_ **

Yup, alright, that was enough looking. His eyes flitted away to look elsewhere again.

Jervis had gone very flushed upon hearing all this. He knew such sentiments were not easy nor pleasant for the professor. While talk of one’s upbringing, outside of culture, wasn’t a thing they discussed often… He couldn’t help but feel Crane at least understood the sense of loneliness he had felt most of his life. Where such a thing left the Hatter clinging to his fantasies, whatever harshness the world dealt his Hare forced him to develop a hard exterior to the world around him. Thinking about a little Jonathan made Jervis’ heart hurt in a way he couldn’t momentarily handle.

No, it was with his friend–the man he saw before him– where Tetch’s current thoughts lied.

“Then I thank you for your selfishness.” Jervis smiled at Jonathan, though he couldn’t find the courage to make direct contact– his eyes instead fluttering down to the bits of straw he could see sticking out of Crane’s collar. “Though, if you may allow me to be so bold… I think you should allow yourself to take what you want more often. _You’ll be far more happier that way._ ”

And it was here the man punctuated this by plucking a piece of straw off of Crane’s shirt. The professor didn’t get a chance to react one way or another, as Jervis then stood up and started walking towards the loft. It was with a bout of playfulness he looked back at his friend, twiddling the straw between finger and thumb, that he asked:

“ _Well, are you coming?"_

Oh, Jervis had an unfortunate habit of being unintentionally cruel. How long was he truly willing to put up with this? Was emotional stability really worth the physical torture?

**_That is the second time he has offered himself to you tonight, Just TAKE him already! SHOW HIM NO ONE TAUNTS THE SCARECROW!_ **

Jonathan felt his jaw clench. It took a lot of willpower not to throw a horrified, betrayed look at the Scarecrow mask. Not even his denial was on his side anymore. It seemed the entire world wanted to see him suffer.

“I’m. Yes. I’ll be up in a moment.”

Jonathan suddenly didn’t feel he was in the correct state of mind nor body for polite company. Or company in general. Despite this  _bump in the road_ , he sighed in relief as Jervis made his way up the ladder. It had been a long, exhausting day, but they were all free, and Jervis was back on track to being himself again. If he were to be afforded more days like this one, Jonathan thought to himself, that might be acceptable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art belongs to the greatest stinker of them all, Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	14. Alice's Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first night since his capture and stay in Arkham Asylum, the Mad Hatter dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning list: food, body horror, suffocation, drowning, dream distortion?
> 
> In any case, there's a lot to unpack here.

The impromptu sleepover had gone over well enough, Jervis supposed. It was certainly strange sharing their space with three other people, as Harley had put on ‘A Muppet Christmas Carol’ for the group to enjoy. Complaints about how Christmas was already taking over Crane’s beloved holiday, ‘so _it didn’t need to be flaunted in his lair earlier than it was welcomed_ ’ had been uttered with the utmost contempt… Yet, naturally, it had been ignored as Harley had won out in the end.

Night passed onto morning, and as much fun as the evening had been… The Mad Hatter found himself relaxing as it was just him and his Hare– the intimacy of two being much preferred than the party of many. With a new day began talks of Scarecrow’s Halloween caper: and just what the man would need from **him** in his arrangements. Jervis found himself very pleased when Crane had lit up at his suggestion of creating a few cards to use on trick-or-treaters, young and old, as a way to distract the Bandersnatch.

Of course, with plans came the need to find materials… But with a month left to procure all the things, the Hatter had no doubt that such a feat could be done. While not one to haunt about the city, even Jervis had to admit his own growing excitement at getting to be part of the Scarecrow’s production. Seeing the man in action from their previous heist had left the Hatter wanting more.

And with it Gotham wouldn’t know what hit them!

It was a few evenings later-- after a long day of running about looking for scrap material-- that Jervis had laid down into his hay bedding.  Eyes heavy, the man yearned for the much needed sleep he deserved. He snuggled as comfortably as he could, his partner in crime not yet having deciding to retire with him. Which was _fine_ , the March Hare was a shy creature and Hatter wouldn’t judge the man for it. Talking until they fell asleep was not the way the Master of Fear functioned.

‘ _Still, it would be nice_ ,’ Jervis couldn’t help but think hazily,  yawning as he closed his eyes. He could feel the world melt around him, as he fell deeper down the rabbit hole of his unconsciousness…

_And for the first night since his capture and stay in Arkham… Jervis dreamt._

* * *

 

Wonderland was always more vibrant than the waking world, and it was with a heavy sigh of relief that the Hatter found himself laying amongst the flowers. His beam only grew as he could hear the soft whispers around him, no doubt the flora being upset by their visitor. WELL, if they didn’t wish him to be there, then the Hatter would swiftly remove himself from their presence.

Hatter sat up, and looked around.

Mmm, yes, he knew where he was instantly. A double chimney house, with hay to cover its roof– why, this was March’s place, naturally. Picking up his hat, the man dusted himself off as he trekked the remaining way towards the entrance of the home. Hatter didn’t feel the need to knock to allow himself entrance, why would he when the tea party had been stuck at 6 o’clock? He never left, he always remained, thus the lovely little cottage was just as much _his_ by this point. And it was with a jovial little hum, to the tune of ‘ _Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat_ ’, that he opened the door.

Wonderland faded into the background, and with it the Hatter persona as Jervis was walking into his quaint little suburban home. His arms were full of the groceries he had finished picking up for the meal he would prepare for his family, as he struggled to carry both bags with one arm.

“ _Honey, I’m home!_ ” Jervis cried cheerfully, carefully shutting the door behind him as he made quick work of heading towards the kitchen.

Light blue walls greeting him as he carefully sat the bags onto the counter. It was then that he looked at the pastel pink clock hanging over by the doorway– its cat eyes and tail swaying back and forth with every tick. Ah, 6 o’clock. Two hours until it would be time to serve dinner, then. Jervis wasn’t worried. And it was with a sense of calm that the man started emptying the contents of the bags onto the counter.

It was while in the middle of sorting the various cans and packages for storage that the mood shifted. The tune he was humming dropped off suddenly and he jumped, when a hand came down onto his shoulder. Startlement quickly subsided when he turned to see a familiar face.

“Jonathan, _you frightened me!_ I didn’t hear you come in.” Despite being scolded, a satisfied smirk played across Jonathan’s face.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” He replied, before bending over slightly to press his lips to his forehead in a quick peck. “Welcome home, dear.”

Jervis felt whatever resentment he may have had held instantly vanish as he took in the greeting. Tenderly caressing the taller man’s cheek, Jervis smiled softly before turning back to finish his chore.

“How was work?” Tetch asked, genuine interest lacing his voice as he made quick work with emptying the bag. He folded it gently once finished, placing it in the lower cabinet where the other paper bags were stored.“You were in your study, weren’t you? Inspiration must have struck; I’m nearly surprised my coming home was able to get a rouse– you’re usually so dedicated to your papers.”

“I was.” Jonathan reached over Jervis’ shoulder to pluck a can from the counter, turning around to lean back against the counter as he inspected it. Or at least pretended to. “I heard you come in and thought you might need help with the groceries. Besides…”

He side-eyed Jervis and gave a playful smile.

_“What good is inspiration to me without my muse?”_

At this Jervis laughed, taking the can of pears back from his husband.

“Test subject, am I? I’m sorry to say I might not be the most suitable guinea pig, _considering my skittishness with all things bump in the night._ ” Here Jervis paused, throwing another look at the clock. “Or evening, as it were. But if I have you out of your room, I may as well put you to work. We’re having cottage pie, and seeing as you aren’t in the habit of _shedding tears_ , I’m afraid that gives you the duty of chopping the onions.”

And it was with a quick turn of the heel Tetch began putting away the things they wouldn’t need for the night’s supper. While he was sure some snarky comment or another was about to leave the other man’s lips, he at least had faith that Jonathan would follow his instructions.

“Oh, on the contrary!” Jonathan replied in an almost chipper tone, and retrieved the bag of onions and a knife without a second thought. “Your susceptibility to fear is what makes you so alluring. To my studies, _and otherwise_.”

He was merely jesting, of course; Jonathan would never think of exposing Jervis to any of his tests **or** his toxic chemicals. And speaking of toxic, the faint smell of onion began wafting through the kitchen as Jonathan went to work preparing them for dinner.

Jervis couldn’t help but think ‘ _It’s the otherwise that’ll be the death of me_ ’ with mild amusement. Tetch had just finished putting a couple of cans under the counter, when popping his head above revealed that the things had been put away and replaced with bowls and measured out ingredients. Ah yes, how forgetful he’s being this evening. He must have finished the chore a while ago.

Jonathan had just finished chopping the onion at the far end of the counter. True to the sentiment said in jest, the man hadn’t shed a single tear. Jervis momentarily wondered if that was from years of tear gas being used against him, but decided that was a _silly notion_ considering Dr. Crane was a mere professor. Being close enough to the cutting board, however, was starting to get to Jervis.

“Much appreciated, love. Fine work.” Tetch uttered in-between wiping his eyes on the corner of his sleeve. “Now, if you think you’re up for the task, I could do with help and company as the potatoes need a quick wash and peel.”

The potatoes were resting in a very familiar looking burlap mask on the counter– and while Jervis didn’t recall having put it there, he was nevertheless thankful as he went to fetch it and head towards the sink.

“Oh, that reminds me!  I saw the Tweedles at the store today. They seemed to be of split mind of what they wanted to buy, but a toss of the coin seemed to decide that a head of cabbage would make a most suitable salad.” Here he paused, already finished washing the first spud as he tried to make sense of something. “I wonder what tails would have meant… You’re the psychologist here, dear, have you the faintest idea?”

“Lobster, most likely.” Crane said with the sort of finality of a man who knew what he was talking about. Jervis nodded in understanding, even as his husband took the potato from him to peel– causing Tetch to wash the next.

“Mmm, I should have known. _Poor thing_ , how one doesn’t go against their toss just to live in luxury for a night is _beyond me_. I don’t believe I would have been able to resist.”

Jonathan was leaning beside the oven now, a kettle boiling on the stove. “Nothing wrong with knowing what you want in life, I suppose.” He replied with a shrug. Jervis didn’t see the shrug, but was sure it had taken place, all the same.

A soft whistling caught Jervis’ attention, and he turned to watch Jonathan pluck the tea kettle from the stove and pour the mashed potatoes into a bowl.

“Potatoes are done. Will Harleen be joining us for dinner this evening, _or is she still out playing amongst the flowers?”_

Jervis had been busy mixing the filling together in his own bowl by the counter. He was half done pouring the stirred concoction into the porcelain cooking dish, when his husband’s inquiry managed to make him scoff.

“You might as well get those jokes out of your system while you can, you know Ms. Isley isn’t one for your teasing.” Jervis picked up the corning ware and brought it over to the stove– that Jonathan had thankfully thought to preheat. Jervis carried on as he gingerly poured the mashed potatoes on top to finish the dish.

“But, yes. Harleen should be arriving soon. She’ll most likely be starved after all her running about.” The blond man bent over to open the stove, putting the cottage pie in to bake. “Wherever your daughter gets her energy from, _one can only imagine._ ”

Jervis sighed, happy to know at least the main course would be complete in time. Of course there was still preparing the salad– as it would be rude not to provide for a vegetarian guest when they had plans to dine– yet, that wouldn’t take too much effort. Jervis looked up towards the grinning time piece, relieved to see it still read 6 o’clock.

“Thank you for your assistance, love. I believe I’m ahead of schedule. _Do_ sit at the table and I’ll join you momentarily for tea. The spinach needs a light bathing first.”

And it was with that simple suggestion, they were both sat drinking tea. The table was littered with various tea pots and cups. One could never have too much tea. Their free hands were casually intertwined beneath.

“You’ve been restless as of late. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Is it because of Halloween?” Jervis asked, with a knowing smile.

“Hmm, perhaps.” A clawed thumb grazed across Jervis’ knuckles, and while he appreciated the gesture, he couldn’t help but think to himself that Jonathan really needed to trim his nails more often. “It’s quickly become my favorite tradition.”

“You’re certainly happier when you’re terrorizing, aren’t you?” Jervis felt himself give a breathless sigh, partially from being on the receiving end of the man’s spooks, partially because seeing Jonathan in his element was a delight unlike no other. “I’m very much looking forward to the romp. _Though I worry about being able to keep up with such an expert._ ”

Here Tetch took his time to think the situation over. While a part of him felt it strange to have such grandiose plans– _how would the neighbors handle such a ruckus?_ – yet, the conversation still held some sort of semblance of making sense to him. Jervis went on.

“Mmm, I know I suggested persuading some trick-or-treaters to keep _a certain someone_ engaged… but I do believe I’ll have to propose the idea to you later about using our pawns to shield your jack-o-lanterns. _It will be such a_ **_shame_ ** _for all that hard work to go to_ **_waste_ ** _, after all._ ”

The fact he was telling his husband all of this in the present, as Jonathan sat right next to him, wasn’t a thought that crossed his mind. To Jervis, it was perfectly logical that he’d have to repeat all this again. That the _other_ Jonathan would need to know.

“Mm-hmm.” Jonathan took another sip of tea and set the cup on the table. “I’m sure we’ll speak of many things, then. And, then again, perhaps we won’t.”

This, too, made a sort of sense without making sense as to why it did, and it wasn’t questioned.

“And I wouldn’t worry too much about being unable to keep up, _you’ve never had that problem in the past.”_ This line was delivered with a playful smirk that could have meant many different things coming from a man like him.

Jervis blinked at this, wishing to inquire what context he should be taking his husband’s words. He never did get to ask, as he could hear the sound of the door to the entrance of the house opening. Loud bangs and the like could be heard, and at this Jervis smiled.

“Ah, that would be your daughter.” Jervis said, with a twinkle in his eyes. He could hear non-comprehensible howls, no doubt the teen of the household wondering if they were home. “In the kitchen, Harleen dear!” The man cried, before having his own thumb stroke Jonathan’s fingers affectionately. “Rowdy little thing, isn’t she?”

It wasn’t long before Harley bounded through the kitchen doorway, dressed in a cheerleader uniform.

“Hiyah pops!” She greeted, addressing both of them. Her smile instantly vanished as she looked at the two of them holding hands, instantly covering her eyes in an overly dramatic and cartoony fashion. “ **Eww,** getta room, you two! _No girl needs t’see her ‘rents canoodling_!”

A moment later, a much less enthusiastic Pamela entered, clad in torn jeans, a red plaid shirt, a black jacket, and combat boots. She blew a bubble with her bubblegum, expanding until it popped.

“Hey Harley’s dads.” She didn’t bother looking up from her phone, but the sentiment was there.

“Hello girls.” Jonathan retracted his hand, out of decency, no doubt. “You’re just in time for dinner.” And they were. The table was now free of tea pots and cups, and instead adorned with the meal they had so lovingly prepared.

“Please, sit.” He frowned at Pamela. “And Ms. Isley, _if you wouldn’t mind_ , please _refrain_ from using your _phone_ at the _dinner table._ ”

The teen sighed loudly and theatrically with a roll of her eyes, but stuffed the phone into her jacket pocket just the same.

Jervis looked up at the clock hanging on the wall: 6 o’clock. And early dinner, but he supposed that merely meant they would have more time together as a family. He had missed that, a part of his mind whispered, bringing up brief flashes of his own parents. Jervis’ smile slipped momentarily, as he remembered their disappointment.

But like that the thoughts were gone, as he beamed politely at the guest joining them for the evening. He was already grabbing the plates that were next to him, ready to serve the young ladies even before they made it to the table.

“Miss Isley, it’s always a pleasure to have you with us. School was pleasant for you girls, I hope?” He had just finished loading up things onto his husband’s plate, being sure to give him an extra helping of everything– Jonathan’s frame concerned him sometimes, even if he did his best not to voice it.

Harley rolled her eyes, even as she waited to be served.

“School’s not supposed t’be fun!” At this she checked herself, eyeing the professor next to her. She sat up straight in her seat, putting on airs of reciting. “ _‘It’s about the **discipline** and preparing yourself for your next level of education, where you’re allowed the freedom of your own pursuit of knowledge.’ _” Harley’s serious persona slipped as her Cheshire grin returned. “Though, it was pretty funny seein’ Billy get tripped durin’ lunch. Landed face first into his puddin’ and everything!”

Jervis frowned again, as the name ‘Billy’ brought along darker feelings inside him. _Feelings of jealousy, hurt, betrayal._ It was as he tried fighting off his sudden strange mood, that he did his best to have a parenting moment.

“Yes, well… I don’t _imagine_ the young man enjoyed being the center of mockery. I at least _hope_ his tormentors were handled properly.”

Jervis didn’t miss her slight hesitance, nor her glance at Ms. Isley.

“Well, **_tormentor_ ** is a little _harsh_ , doncha think?” She grinned and gave a nervous, forced laugh, then stuffed a forkful of food into her mouth.

“Trust me, he deserved it. Guy’s a real creep.” Pamela was on her phone again, the salad in the bowl in front of her still untouched. She shrugged, and added, “I _said_ I was _sorry_. And they believed me. Like they always do.”

“Ms. Isley, I **won’t** ask you again. _Phone_ **.** **Please.** ”

Pamela’s eyes shifted up to stare at Jonathan, her phone slowly lowering as she held his gaze. The moment it had lowered past the table, her eyes shifted back down to it.

“Just because I can’t see it doesn’t mean you aren’t still on it. I **will** confiscate it for the duration of this meal.”

Isley huffed and set it on the table, face-down. “You are such a teacher.” The dry aggravation in her tone was evident. She stabbed her fork into her salad.

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Jervis smiled at the exchange, his mood already lifting again.

“Surely, Pamela, you can’t expect to go out to sea, right into a tortoise’s home, and expect him not to bestow a lesson or two?” The deadpan expression he received only made him more pleased. Harley, who was halfway done with her meal, groaned with food still in her mouth.

“Uuugh, you’re startin’ with the dad jokes already?”

“I haven’t the _slightest idea_ what you could possibly be referring to,” Jervis said with innocent airs, as he sliced his pears into smaller bites. “And _do_ try not speaking with your mouth full, Harleen. You’ll accidentally choke, and what’s worse, it’s **rude**.”

He cared for the girl, truly, but he was afraid to know where she got her manners from. A quick glance at his husband and his elbows on the table was enough to give Jervis an inkling of an idea.

And it seemed as if everyone had taken his advice to heart, as a silence fell over the dinner table. They continued to eat, but said nothing more. Jervis was about to voice his unsettled concern, when Ms. Isley broke the silence for him.

“Great salad, Mr. T.” she pushed her empty bowl away. Her phone was nowhere to be seen.

“Yes, thank heavens **one** of us can cook. Thank you for the lovely meal, dear.” Jonathan stood and began collecting the dirtied dishes to wash.

“Oh! Well, think nothing of it, really.” Jervis grew modest, playing with his fingers as he looked away. “It’s as much for **me** , as it is for anyone else. I revel in the act of feeling useful. And if it helps those I care about, _all the better._ ”

This felt very blunt to admit out loud, but Jervis chose not to dwell on it. Nor could he, as he found himself startled by Harleen suddenly jumping to her feet– hands slightly shaking the table with her action.

“WELP, thanks for the din-din. Is it alright fer Red n’ me t’go hang in my room for a while?”

“Do mind the table,” Jervis politely scolded, his hand placed to his chest to steady his heart’s rapid acceleration. “But yes, you ladies go enjoy yourselves. Just don’t be _too_ loud, if you would. I’m sure your father has work he’ll want to continue.’

“Can do!” And with that Harley grabbed Pamela’s wrist, dragging the girl away whether she wanted it or not. Jervis took amusement in this, sitting and watching for a few moments longer before exhaling slowly.

“Speaking of things one must do, I suppose I should take out the rubbish bin before we find ourselves with flies come morning.” He looked up at his husband, who was finishing the last of the dishes. He took silent notice of Jonathan’s head now resembled that of a rabbit. To Jervis it seemed perfectly natural, as he was used to the professor taking on multiple roles.

Tetch made his way over towards his husband, just as Jonathan turned off the water and began drying his hands.

“You **are** planning on working, are you not?” Jervis asked curiously, as he began straightening Jonathan’s tie, and dusting off any straggling lint he could find. It was while petting him down that Jervis was happy to see Jonathan’s head had decided to be that of the man he cared for deeply, rather than the character he resembled.

“Mm, yes, I’m afraid there is still work to be done.” This was spoken with a practiced tone of resigned disappointment, but Jervis knew the man did truly enjoy what he did. In fact, he was likely anxious to get back to it. He was brought out of these thoughts by the feel of long fingers combing through his hair.

“You’re more than welcome to join me when you return, however.” The hand on his head was gone now, and Jonathan turned to leave. “I’ll be in my study.”

Jervis watched him momentarily as the man walked away and started headed towards the stairs. A part of him wanted to follow, the draw of this man’s presence being like treacle from a well. Jervis had made it to the kitchen doorway himself, hand resting on the frame as if to be the anchor keeping him from being pulled from the task at hand. He sighed seeing his own reflection in the mirror across the doorway: the fact the outfit was his Hatter attire rather than the sweater vest his actual person was wearing not at all seeming peculiar.

_There was something he needed to do before he could pursue the likes of Jonathan Crane._

Jervis turned on his heel, marching straight to where the bin was waiting next to the door. Drawing the strings of the black plastic bag, he gave it a good tug before giving it the proper knot it deserved. Tugging it from the bin, he went towards the door that would let him out the backside of his suburban home. Dread filled his stomach at the idea of stepping out, _but that was ridiculous_ . A quick glance at the kit-kat clock told him it was 6:01, there was **plenty** of time before the sun would set and the dark of night would fall upon them. There was nothing to fear about what laid just beyond the comfort of his home. It was with a determined nod, eyes closed, the man opened the door to take a step forward.

_Jervis Tetch hadn’t a moment to try and stop himself as both he and his baggage suddenly plummeted downwards into the unknown._

* * *

 

_Jervis woke up with a start, eyes wide and alert as he instantly sat up. His panic only became worse as he realized he couldn’t see anything. Inky blackness surrounded him and stretched out in all directions. The only source of light from the room seemed to be coming from himself. And it was with a look down at his hands did he notice that it was naked. As were his arms, and the rest of himself attached to it. It was with a shameful yelp he did the best to cover his nether region, as he tried standing up within the void._

_“H…Hello?” Jervis asked, his voice echoing around him. Where was he? Why was he there? And more importantly, how was he to escape in order to find some way to cover his person? This was all rather uncalled for, being so exposed to the elements. Even if the current elements were nonexistent, and he was very much alone._

_Jervis dared to take a step forward, feeling a chill go through him as he felt the sensation of wetness under him. It was very much like walking in a creek that had been cut off from its source, with just the trickling of water remaining. Looking down he saw nothing, ground still as black and without any distinguishable features as before. Taking another step created the same sensation, and Jervis frowned as he realized this was something he would have to put up with as he trekked forward._

_Still… he really wished whomever had brought him there could have at least spared him the kindness of leaving him with shoes…_

_Jervis’ steps were slowed and pained, his legs feeling heavy like logs. Trudging along would be the accurate description of what he was doing, as after a while he even had to remove his hands from his privates in order to swing his arms back and forth to keep his momentum going._

_It took a while to realize that the chill of the invisible water had risen up his body, and soon Jervis found himself completely wading through it– head struggling to keep itself afloat. Jervis gasped for air, sometimes taking in lungfuls of void as he choked and flailed.  He vigorously continued to paddle. This wasn’t right! It was uncalled for! While Jervis Tetch may not live to see the end results, he wouldn’t_ **_allow_ ** _himself to die only to later be found as nude as the day he was born!_

_A higher power must have been listening, as Jervis soon after had his hand smacking onto what felt like the ledge of a pool. Frantically flailing, the man used every ounce of strength he could to claw his way out. After what seemed like hours to his poor frazzled mind, but was most likely seconds, Jervis found himself panting and shivering at the cold wetness clinging to his body. Shaking, arms wrapped around himself to find some semblance of warmth, Jervis looked upwards to see what he might find._

_It was then that he let out a little ‘oh’ of surprise. Looking through the plastered bangs to his face, he realized he was crouching under a wooden table. Crawling forward and out from under the cloth covering, Jervis noted that he was very much still within the void. Well, no matter. At least now he could get to his feet and fashion the cloth into a toga to give himself some sort of_ **_decency._ **

_Standing to his feet, Jervis gasped as he noticed he was very much_ **_not_ ** _alone. As there, at the other end of a cluttered and dish filled table…_ **_sat Alice_ ** _._

_She wasn’t moving. She stared straight ahead, and Jervis knew she wouldn’t begin until he had sat. And, seemingly against his will, he did._

_“Hello Jervis. I’ve been waiting for you. You left me here all alone.”_

_Her voice wasn’t the delightful, melodious tone he’d remembered so fondly. It was flat, robotic. But what was worse, were her eyes. They were dull, lifeless, plastic. There was nothing resembling his Alice in them_ **_at all_ ** _. Not unlike the way they looked when he’d been forced to…_ **_no._ ** _They were even worse now, somehow. He tried desperately to look away, to shut his own eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at hers._

_He was unable to do either._

_“You aren’t Alice… you can’t be…” His voice was small, quavering._

_“But I am. I’m the Alice that you created. Your perfect little doll. How long would you have kept me like this, Jervis? Forever?”_

_“_ **_No_ ** _,” the man croaked, still staring into those soulless plastic eyes,” No, I… I never wanted you this way. I loved you, you_ **_must_ ** _believe me!”_

 _“_ **_Did_ ** _you, Jervis? Did you love me? The_ **_real_ ** _me?” Alice’s head rolled off the stiff frame of her neck, looking uncomfortable as it was titled and exposed. Still, in the same monotonous voice, she pressed on. “Or would you have broken me if I didn’t live up to your fantasies? Little boys are always so_ **_rough_ ** _with their dolls.”_

 _Jervis felt glued to his chair, even as the woman’s words made him want to run. He didn’t want to confront this– it didn’t matter anymore! She was marrying Billy, he was now lost to Gotham’s seedy underbelly. He had moved on! They_ **_all_ ** _had! There was no need talk about this any further!_

 _“_ **_Jaaarvis._ ** _” The gurgling sound of his name coming from Alice was enough to cause his breath to hitch with fear. Jervis felt himself shaking just from the tone alone. It was then that Tetch cried out in horror as the arms of the large chair he was sitting in suddenly wrapped around him_

 _“Please, no!_ **_Let me go!_ ** _” Jervis struggled in his seat, the wooden arms only squeezing him tighter. His focus was instantly drawn back towards Alice as she raised herself, slowly, from her chair. Neck cracking as she snapped it to the other side. Still lifeless, the woman crawled onto the table, lurching herself forward with heavy shakes of the table. Dishes were pushed aside as if they were nothing. The table continued to shake. And Alice continued violently to make her way towards the trembling Tetch._

_“No, nonono!”_

_Jervis ribs were being crushed, his bones cracking from the pressure. He hissed in pain, and yet all he could focus on was Alice dragging herself towards him like the lifeless zombie she was. Alarm struck him as Alice began to break and splinter, as feet and hands were discarded and forgotten-  crashing to the floor. Her stubby porcelain limbs stabbed through the table with every movement, and_ **_still_ ** _her expression didn’t change._

_She was closing in on him, mere inches away. Jervis could see every break on her body. The cracks had gone up her frame, towards her eyes like throbbing veins against deathly white skin._

__

_Alice, this broken abomination, merely looked him straight in the eyes as she asked one last question:_

_“_ **_Who else are you willing to break?_ ** _”_

_Jervis could only scream when Alice’s head fell into his lap._

* * *

Jonathan was used to being embraced like an oversized teddy bear by now, the man he shared his sleeping quarters with was even more clingy as he slept than when he was awake. As Scarecrow had so eloquently stated, who was he to deny free spooning from the target of his foolish and unrequited affections? Or warmth, for that matter.

But it seemed like a cruel joke the universe was playing on him when Jervis had muttered his name into his ear. Jonathan’s eyes had gone wide then, his teeth clenching. What did that even **_mean?_ ** He received his answer a moment later when Jervis began to scream.

 _Jervis was having_ **_nightmares_ ** _about him._

 _“Oh dear lord.”_ Jonathan whimpered, a powerful shudder shooting down his spine to pool in a rather inconvenient place. This was it. The worst it had ever been. He was learning so many things about himself living with the Mad Hatter. Things he really wished had gone _unknown._

It was tempting to allow this to go on for his own twisted enjoyment, but he was also being squeezed a little bit too tightly now. He began to struggle, but it seemed to be completely in vain.

 **_“Jervis!”_ ** He shouted. “Wake **_up!_ ** You are **_crushing me!”_ **

Cries from the real world were enough to send Jervis spiraling into reality. Eyes shooting open, the Hatter sat up with a start. His screams had stopped, but with it came the ragged pants of a man gasping for breath. He wheezed, violently sucking in all the air he could as his heart pounded in his chest.

Jervis’ eyes darted around. Where was he? Hatter tried his best to gather where he was. For a moment, panic returned as he feared he was still trapped within the void. While darkness surrounded him, it was nowhere near as black as he could actually make out the basic shapes of the hayloft around them.

It wasn’t long before his gaze landed on his friend and roommate.

“ _…Jonathan?_ ” Jervis asked softly, his own voice feeling detached from him and unreal. “Am I… awake?”

Ah. It had been one of **_those_ ** nightmares. Very disorienting, in his experience. Jonathan turned around completely to sit and face the shape in the dark that was Jervis. Presumably.

“Yes. You’re awake now. … Having _nightmares_ about me, were you? _I’m flattered.”_

His love of fear, psychology, and his ego were all very excited to hear every detail of the man’s dream. He could only hope Jervis was in a _sharing_ mood this night.

At this Jervis blinked a few times, trying to process what the other man was talking about.

“What?” Not a very eloquent way of expressing his confusion, but Jervis’ mind had been too split as he tried to ground himself. “ _Sorry, please forgive me. I’m having trouble._ ” Here he rubbed his eyes. Just as he started to feel his heart slow its pace, the Hatter jolted upright at the vision of the decapitated head in his lap.

“ **Alice!** ” Jervis suddenly cried, looking wildly down at his lap as if expecting her soulless eyes to still be staring up at him in judgement.

Jonathan’s expectant, smug grin instantly fell into a deep frown, although it was impossible to tell in the darkness.

 _“Alice?”_ He spoke the name with heavy disdain, as though it felt filthy on his tongue. And then he realized the implications.

“Oh.” He’d been dreaming about **her.** _Of course_ he had. At least he’d made _an appearance_. … He was being ridiculous. As if Alice hadn’t **_always_** been the star of Jervis’ world. A part of him wanted to lie back down and go back to sleep, but a bigger part of him knew that if he did, Jervis would only be awake for the rest of the night.

“Thoughts of her still plague you, I see. Would you like to tell me about it?”

Talking about one’s dreams often helped… and sometimes it didn’t. He was about to see which was the case here, he figured. 

Jonathan’s voice in the darkness was enough to remind him that he was no longer still part of the Red King’s dream. Nor alone, for that matter. Jervis brought his knees forward, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his face against them.

“ **No** ,” Hatter said instantly. There was a pause as he sat there, words and images raced through his mind, making him all the more upset. It was then with a shaky breath Jervis replied. “ **Yes** , I… I think I need to talk about it. I merely need… to think about where to start.”

_‘Begin at the beginning,’ the King said gravely, ‘and go on till you come to the end: then stop.’_

Yes… Hatter supposed he had to agree with the King’s assessment.

“Everything had started out lovely enough. I was in Wonderland, _then I wasn’t_ . Then **you** were there with me, _then you weren’t_ .” Jervis’ thoughts were much too frazzled in the current state to even begin thinking about the implications his mind had made in regards to his Hare. He knew the man had been a comfort that was stolen from him, and that was all Jervis needed to reflect on. “And then… and then I was nowhere, discarded in a sea of emptiness, _and someone had gone and stolen my_ **_clothes_ ** _._ ”

Jervis shivered as he recalled how cold and soaked he had been, drawing one of his blankets over himself. He carried on, not even taking notice of the fact his friend had remained silent over his story so far.

“I was **drowning** . Nothing was there, and it was _suffocating me_ . It took everything I had not to sink to the very bottom of it. But, but I remember somehow finding a ledge to crawl out onto. Then there was a table set for tea and… _and.._ ”

Jervis could still see those dead clear blue eyes staring up at him.

“ **Alice** was there _, just how I left her._ ”

Oh, now _this_ was unexpected. He’d been given a peek into Jervis’ deep subconscious, and oh what treasures he’d found there. Tetch felt _guilty._ His mind was desperately trying to _heal,_ move forward, by forcing him to finally confront these things, and Jervis felt _vulnerable_ , unable to hide from his own subconscious, suppressed feelings.

Dreams were fascinating things.

Of course, Jonathan voiced none of this. He was self aware enough to know they’d both tired of being poked and prodded by so-called psychologists.

“And did she _say_ anything?” He coaxed, intrigued to hear this through to the end.

Jervis was filled with the haunting tones of the dream Alice, as her accusations echoed inside him.

Jervis’ mouth felt dried as he desperately tried to swallow down his dread.

“She… she said I never loved her. Not the **real** her.” The vulnerable man opened his mouth to speak, prepared to continue with his horrid story, when his thoughts were stolen from him by another familiar voice that had equally frightened him in the waken world.

**Then all you’ve waited for is a puppet… A soulless little doll.**

“ _….Batman was_ **_right._ ** ” Jervis choked out, feeling his own reality crumbling around him. “I turned her into a **doll.** My plaything. Another _puppet_ in my cast of characters.”

How could Jervis say he **cared** about her if he was willing to take away everything she was? To strip her down to a mere shell of a being… _Just how far was he willing to go?_

**Would you have broken me if I didn’t live up to your fantasies?**

“ _No,_ ” he whispered, still wanting to fight. “No. No, I never wanted to hurt her. I never wanted her _that_ way. I LOVED her.”

**Alice was never invited to the tea party to begin with, was she? Nor did she hold much importance to the Mad Hatter at all.**

Dr. Leland was in his head now. Batman and Leland were staring down at him, ever judging as he sat vulnerable and naked in the chair that was still keeping him hostage. And there was broken Alice, right between the both of them, staring at him with those eyes.

**The Hatter didn’t even notice. He was preoccupied enjoying the company of his friends.**

And there was Jonathan, lurking out from behind the bulky figure of the Dark Knight. Jervis’ breath hitched as he saw the same soulless expression on his best friend’s face.

**Who else are you willing to break?**

**“No!”**

_Loved._ Crane considered. Speaking of her in the past-tense, as if he thought she were **dead** . How strange. How badly did he assume he’d hurt her? Sure, yes, she no doubt was left with trauma and emotional scars to last her a lifetime, but she was _alive,_ and safe, and happily married by now, most likely.

Ah, but that was the thing, wasn’t it? This wasn’t only about Alice. This was a man struggling with his own morality. No, not struggling, _wrestling with it._ Fighting tooth and nail. And in the end facing the horrible truth; _the road to Hell is paved with good intentions._ He may not have _wished_ to hurt her, but he **had.**

It was… probably the best thing for Jervis to finish this bought on self-reflection, but this was where selfishness stepped in. Jonathan did not come this far, made this much progress on Jervis’ mood, just to have him flung right back into another fit. Jonathan was going to make sure his friend didn’t go running off back to Wonderland again.

“Jervis.” He reached a hand out to set on his shoulder to try and ground him. He missed in the darkness and it ended up on his head instead. Well. That was fine, too. “That is all in the _past_ . It’s fine to reflect, _but just remember_ **_where_ ** _you_ **_are.”_ **

It was the hand on his head that brought Jervis back to reality. He flinched away from the touch. And just as suddenly,  Jervis found himself grabbing Crane’s arms.

“ **No** , _not the past._ You were **there** , Jonathan. You were **there** , and you were just as soulless as **she** .” Jervis was trembling, his eyes wide in fear. “I finally found _friends._ People who care for _me_ and me for _them_ . But I… _I_ **_break_ ** _people._ ”

This was punctuated with a hoarse sob, as Tetch couldn’t stop himself from collapsing into the startled body of the other man. He was heaving **violently** , every breath feeling like it might be his last as he fought to _breathe_.

“ _I, I can’t do that. Not_ **_again._ ** _I don’t want to. Not_ **_you_ ** ,” he gasped for air, “ _not you_ **too** _.”_ Jervis wildly repeated. _“Not again!_ ”

Crane involuntarily grunted at the sudden intrusion upon his person. This, too, was something he should have been used to by now, but he wasn’t. And now his ego was being attacked just as much as his personal space. He felt his fists clench at his sides as Scarecrow roared inside his head.

**_He really thinks he can control and manipulate the mind of the Scarecrow so easily?! How dare he!_ **

But his fuming ego was quickly extinguished with a heavy dose of logic and reasoning. Yes, it would be easy for Tetch to stick a card on his head and use him like a straw-stuffed puppet. He knew this, and he’d _always_ known this. He unclenched his hands, placing one tentatively and awkwardly on Jervis’ back in a feeble attempt at comfort.

“Jervis… Jervis listen to me. Now that you **know** the hypnotized make better _goons_ than _company_ , I really can’t see you making that mistake a _second time_ . You’re too intelligent for that. Even _rodents_ learn from their mistakes.”

He paused.

 _“Oh and besides…”_ he added with a resigned sigh. “You needn’t lure **_me_ ** into Wonderland if I already _reside_ there **_. I_ ** attend your little tea parties quite _willingly_ , and so did the _others,_ if you’ll recall.”

Jonathan suddenly became aware he’d been rubbing the man’s back and stopped immediately.

Jervis had been listening to Crane throughout his sobbing fit. The voice of his friend soothing his mind and soul in ways the professional doctors at Arkham never could. The calm circles being rubbed into his back did the remaining trick, as the Hatter felt himself being able to control his breathing.

Jervis allowed himself to think over what the other man said. To consider all the people he had met since stepping through the looking-glass and the mad world he found himself in. Maybe it was crazy to say, it certainly felt crazy to think it in any case, but in some ways… he was happier than he had ever been. Jervis now found himself with a group of colleagues that might not have shared his exact same oddities, but had learn to understand the method of it. People who were willing to learn the language of Carroll, _just to understand him_. And it was true, there wasn’t a single one he had met that he felt like he wanted to use his cards on. Strangers, sure, one still needed pawns if they want to at least be on the board of life. He would always need chess pieces to be able to navigate his way from one checkered tile to the next-- especially if he wanted to seek the power of queendom.

_But friends did pawns **not** make._

Jervis unraveled himself from the long limbs of his friend as he looked up at him. The shine of Jonathan’s eyes noticeable even amongst the dark.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, feeling drained. “I keep doing this to you. Putting myself on you like this. _I’m quite the mess, aren’t I?_ ” Here Jervis gave a hallowed laugh, looking away as if to hide his own shame. “But… thank you. For it. For **_everything_** _,_ really.”

“Yes, well.” Jonathan pressed a hand against the wet spot Jervis’ tears had left on his shirt and tried rubbing it away. Not that this did anything at all. “We’re _all_ a mess here, aren’t we. It can’t be helped. In any case…”

Jonathan lay back down and stared up at the inky blackness that was the ceiling. “We should try and get more rest while we can. You’re… _better_ now, yes?”

“Yes. I think so. Good night.”

Jervis lay back down as well, curling up on his side, facing away from Jonathan. He had encroached upon his personal space enough for one night. Sleep would come soon enough, but for now, his thoughts still kept him awake, one of them he decided to voice.

“You know… of all the many roles you play… I do think Jonathan is my favorite.”

The silence spun out for so long, Jervis suspected Jonathan had either fallen asleep, or had been made so uncomfortable he’d decided not to reply. And when the reply did finally drift from the darkness... it was quiet, perhaps even a little sorrowful.

_“Thank you."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the sweet dream (or beautiful nightmare?), Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	15. Falling Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You stumbled in and bumped your head,  
> If not for me then you'd be dead"  
> \--  
> "Kryptonite," Three Doors Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: blood, injuries, body horror
> 
> Well this certainly went many places...

As it turned out, Ivy was indeed able to create monster pumpkins… but to make them Fear Toxin breathing pumpkin monsters, a special blend of Fear Toxin was needed. And so more chemicals were needed. Namely, a chemical called Aldrin, which was primarily found in pesticides long illegalized due to health risks.

As luck would have it, however, the Riddler managed to track down an old warehouse on the outskirts of Metropolis that was rumored to house said pesticide. Far enough away from their hideout as not to be traced back to them…

But the best part was, Metropolis _just so happened_ to be far out of Batman’s jurisdiction. No Batman, no worries. Why Nygma actually wanted to help was a mystery… bragging rights, perhaps, or an owed favor to hold over their heads.

Scarecrow parked his truck behind said warehouse, and got out, looking up at the squat, long building. The ride there had been strangely quiet, as he’d made this trip alone. Jervis was busy preparing his own gadgets for the Halloween caper, and so Scarecrow thought perhaps he’d make himself useful and take a quick supply run.

The front doors were chained shut. Of course they were. Nothing a little chemical corrosion didn’t fix, but it had still been a minor, and annoying, inconvenience. Scarecrow slipped inside and shut the door behind him, clicked on his flashlight, and then took inventory… and groaned when he saw just how much inventory there was. Pallets upon pallets, rows upon rows, of farming supplies. How in the world was he going to find what he needed in all this? Nygma hadn’t mentioned it would be like this! He’d made it sound so _simple_! Scarecrow sighed and, begrudgingly, began searching.

* * *

 

Metropolis was a city with charm. A place of opportunities where, with enough encouragement and luck, anybody could make a name for themselves. Yet, as exciting as the city could be, with its ability to give anyone a fair shot at the lives people wanted to live… sometimes that excitement came at the price of allowing those that wished its people ill intent the ability to thrive just as well. It was a shame that a city so beautiful could even house such monstrosities.

But… at least it wasn’t as rambunctious as its sister city, Gotham.

Now this was a thought that brought a smile to Clark’s face, not being able to resist the urge to tease. No, as much as he knew such light ribbing would have made the likes of Gotham’s Dark Knight scowl, it wasn’t exactly sporting to make light of the situation. As Clark’s mother would have advised, it wasn’t fair to expect a fish to climb a tree nor to ask for an apple to be an orange. Gotham was a city with its own special breed of problems, and with it he couldn’t help but admire the work Batman did to keep the city functioning even as much as it was.

In some ways, as much as Clark would loathe to think it true, it was better that there were people who feared the likes of what Superman could do. It certainly… seemed to scare off the likes of Gotham’s criminals from skating too close to the heart of Metropolis.

_The outskirts, on the other hand…_

Clark Kent, otherwise known as Superman, had been busy doing his last patrol for the night. While the life of a reporter made him have early mornings, being an immigrant of earth granted the hero the ability to have a proper night’s rest at only half the winks. Convenient, yes, but even Superman was nearing his bedtime. It made the hero curious to know how Batman could stay up as late as he did, while still running his companies as Bruce Wayne.

A mystery he was sure the man wanted to keep.

Clark was finishing up his rounds on the rural side of the city, the limbo where one couldn’t quite tell where Metropolis ended and Gotham began, when a sudden noise caught him off guard. Superman was hovering near the location of an old abandoned warehouse– a place that he knew the owners were having trouble selling because of its history of using now banned pesticides. When he had written a report on it as Kent, it was said that there was concern with getting rid of what had remained after the ban. Moving the material was dangerous, and with it came the decision to leave the chemicals there to be forgotten.

_Or… so he had thought._

For a moment Clark had considered the idea of maybe a wild animal having gone inside. Like a raccoon or something of that ilk. But it was with his advanced hearing he could make out slight mutterings and the distinct sound of footsteps. Flying closer and using his ability to see through walls told him his suspicions were warranted.

Not a raccoon, but a different sort of masked thief…

_“Scarecrow.”_

It was with a quick gust of speed that Superman flew in through the warehouse’s broken skylight, as he made quick work of finding the unwanted guest. It didn’t take long, not much did when you were one of the fastest men alive, as he slowly descended upon the master of fear.

“A little far from home, don’t you think?” Superman asked loud enough for Scarecrow to hear, causing the man to flinch suddenly in his direction. Clark continued, even as he hovered just enough to be above the man’s own towering height. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced: I’m **Superman**.”

And with his name came the unspoken threat of ‘ _and you know what I am capable of_ ’.

 **_“Superman!?_ ** But–” The man of steel was somehow even more imposing back lit by the moonlight streaming in from the broken window. Yes, he was well aware Superman was Metropolis’ overseer, but never once did he think he’d run into him way out here. Didn’t he have _an entire city to patrol?_ What was he even **_doing_ ** here?!

“… I’d _stay back_ , if **_I_ ** were you.” He glanced down at the box of chemicals he held in his hands, backing away slowly. “These chemicals are **_highly dangerous_ ** , who **knows** what might happen when exposed to **heat vision** , _or any of your_ **_other_ ** _tricks…”_

Yeah this was never going to work. On to plan B, not that it was any better than plan A had been.

“Actually, _let’s find out._ ”  Scarecrow chucked the box of deadly chemicals at the hovering death sentence, hoping, at the very least, to distract him, then turned and fled as quickly as he could.

It certainly had been enough of a distraction, as Superman wasn’t used to criminals chucking the contents they were planning on stealing. The contents of the box had hit his chest, before crashing to the ground. The white powder slightly spilled out from the box, but otherwise just sat there, not hurting anybody. Dangerous if exposed to human skin, yes. But while busy being a little pile of nothing on concrete… _not so much._

Raising a brow, Superman sped along– whizzing past the man who had already made it to the other side of the warehouse. Crane’s long limbs may have provided him some distance, but distance was nothing to the Kryptonian as Superman waited right in front of him. Crane let out a startled cry, before running the opposite direction.  The criminal didn’t get too far before ending up running straight into the hero’s broad chest. Scarecrow ‘ _ack!’ed_ and _‘oof’ed_ as he collided and fell to the ground.

“I think that’s just about enough.” Superman said with finality, picking up Scarecrow by his baggy shirt as if he was a mere mischievous kitten more so than the deadly villain he was. Superman levitated higher into the air, with plans of escorting them both out from the window he came from. “I believe Gotham PD has been very concerned about your whereabouts, and would appreciate having you back in their custody.”

Scarecrow struggled in Superman’s grasp, limbs flailing uselessly, spewing mostly empty threats along the way. He froze completely when Gotham PD was mentioned; the thought of spending Halloween behind bars really was a terrifying thought.

Of course, the Scarecrow always had, quite literally, one more trick up his sleeve. He’d avoided using it, not sure if his toxins would have any effect at all on such an extraordinary beast, but he was out of options at this point.

“Tell me, Superman…” He began, suddenly ominously calm. “What does a man like you have to **_fear?_ **” Clawed hands rose to Superman’s face and red gas began to pour out from the fingertips.

Superman, unfortunately, had been caught off guard by the sudden attack. Breathing in the the gas had been involuntary, but by then it was too late. Superman coughed as the toxin burned his lungs.

_Clark Kent instantly was alert, as the night sky became a red flame. Swirling around, the hero gasped at the blinding light. It… it was the sun. The sun had gone supernova, sending a blast of heat across the cosmos like a wave of destruction. All around him the world was becoming kindling. Gotham in the distance, then the farmlands. Trees instantly became ashes as the wave was coming closer and closer to Metropolis._

_There… was no time to evacuate the city. There wasn’t even time to save the man he was currently holding onto, as even Scarecrow seemed to gasp in terror at what was coming upon them.  In a blink of an eye, the heat was there, surrounding them in a fiery oven of death._

_Superman watched as the criminal screamed in his grasp, flesh and straw charring and flying into the winds. And there was Clark’s own skin, boiling and blistering with a pain unlike anything he had felt before._

**_The sun was taking them all down in a fiery blaze._ **

_Yet again another home was being stolen from him. His family, his friends… Clark knew they were all meeting the same horrid fate as the man who had shriveled away to nothing between his fingers._

_Clark could only scream as he couldn’t help but think this must have been the last thing his people felt as Krypton was eradicated from the universe._

The look in Superman’s eyes… it was superb. That look of terror and anguish, oh, Scarecrow knew it well; _his Fear Gas had done its job._ His delighted chuckling was cut short, however, when Superman let go of his shirt, and the rogue suddenly realized his grave mistake.

He’d caused the super hero to hallucinate while they were both a good twenty feet into the air.

Scarecrow reached out to claw desperately at the man who’d just released him, but he’d reacted a bit too late. All he could do was scream as he plummeted to the concrete floor below. He’d landed on a tall shelving unit first, bouncing off and landing on his face on the floor.

“ _Hnnn_ …” Scarecrow groaned, lifting his head and turning to look above when he heard a loud creaking sound. He watched in horror as the entire shelving unit collapsed on top of him, the edge of it smacking against the back of his head as it did. The sound of it clattering to the floor, scattering its contents everywhere, echoed throughout the warehouse for what felt like eons, and then finally, blissfully, there was silence.

There was pain, _so much pain,_ but the pain only meant he was **_alive_ ** . He’d **survived** that, against all odds. Scarecrow feebly pulled himself from the rubble, dragging himself across the floor until he was free of it. He glanced over to see a box of the chemical he needed not too far away. He stumbled to his feet, fighting a wave of dizziness before grabbing the box and making haste toward the door… turning back one more time to look at the muttering super hero he’d left in his wake, before slipping back out the door. The box was tossed into the back seat, and Scarecrow got behind the wheel, peeling out of there before the stuff decided to wear off.

The road ahead of him doubled, and then tripled. Scarecrow shut his eyes tightly for a second, and then reopened them. This seemed to momentarily fix the problem, but the fresh bolt of pain it had caused to shoot through his skull made his stomach lurch. The tires squealed as he swerved, and then pulled the truck over, whipping his mask off and stumbling out the door, falling to his knees to retch at the side of the road. He stared at the gravel a foot from his face, watched as it swam in and out of focus. He reached a shaking hand up to press against the back of his head, and hissed through his teeth at how much it hurt to do that. He grimaced down at his hand that had come away sticky with crimson.

 _“Oh_ **_delightful._ ** _”_ He muttered, scornfully. A hospital was out of the question. His first aid supplies were back at the barn. The ride back to Gotham was going to be a long one.

* * *

 

Nearly three hours later, the truck slowed and turned, coming in far too close to the barn, its passenger side mirror scraping against the side of it. But he’d made it, the chemicals were safe, mission accomplished… and with that, his trembling body gave into the throbbing in his head and he slumped against the steering wheel, too out of it to register that horrible sound was the truck’s horn blaring under his weight.

Inside the barn, however, had been an entirely different scene.

The Mad Hatter had used his hours of solitude to work away at his desk– using his magnification glasses to take in all the intricate details of the chips for his cards. Nevar had been busy keeping him company, the delightful little Jubjub bird seeming to adore socializing just as much as Jervis. Why, sometimes the man even _swore_ the crow was doing its best to converse back. It was really all rather charming.

What wasn’t as charming was Nevar’s incessant need to try and procure himself new additions to his collection.

“Now no more of that, you monstrous crow,” Jervis teased, lightly tapping the creature’s beak before it could nudge itself closer to his pile of screws. “Your devilish thieving tactics may **start** a quarrel rather than **end one**.”

At this Nevar croaked, flapping his tar-barrel wings as he took a step away from the pile. Whatever protest the bird gave quickly became a laugh as it _‘haroo’ed_ and _‘hra’ed_ in the way the crow usually did when associating with the Mad Hatter. Jervis couldn’t help but grin affectionately back, amused by such treatment.

“That is a very valid argument, my dear. I _do_ suppose my pile is rather large, while you haven’t a pile at all. My, _what a predicament._ ” Jervis tapped the side of his mouth, brows furrowed as if truly thinking the matter over. “ _Hmm_ , I’m afraid you’re right. It is, _no doubt_ , unsuitably **unjust**.”

Nevar quirked his head side to side, black eyes following the man’s every moment as the Hatter’s hands walked across the table. It was with a gentle nudge that Jervis removed one from the pile, handing it before the bird as if he was offering the most valuable treasure known to man.

The happy squawk Nevar gave made one agree, as the crow instantly snatched up its present. Flying up towards the beams, the bird went to hide the screw amongst all the other pilfered items.

Jervis was just about to titter and scold about manners– how eager the thing had been to leave once taking what it wanted– when Nevar flew back to the desk, as if ready to accept another gift.

“ _Ooooh no_ ,” Hatter teased, “you really mustn’t be so greedy. What would this poor Hatter do if he was **forced** to give away the things he needed, until _he_ was the one left with none? Oh, _that just wouldn’t do._ Jonathan would have my head, for sure, if I spoiled you to the detriment of his plans _._ ”

Nevar, unfortunately, never got the chance to respond back, as both bird and man were startled by the sudden sound of a horn.

“ **What in the world!** ” Jervis cried out, instantly jumping to his feet as he ran to the barn door. Not thinking of bringing anything for protection, the man opened the front with a shove, and nearly did a double take at seeing Jonathan’s truck so close to the entrance.

This merely made the bells of alarm tingle all the more violently inside him, as Jervis ran towards the driver’s side of the door.

What Jervis saw only made him all the more frantic.

“Jonathan!” The Englishman forced the door open, hands instantly going to gently touch the back of Crane’s head– as if by some chance the man merely fell asleep at the wheel. The wet sensation against his gloves made him gasp, recoiling away as udder dread hit him at the sight. **Blood.** “ _‘Oh my fur and whiskers.’_ ”  He instantly ripping the thing off of him in instinctive horror, throwing it to ground.

Eyes darting back to Jonathan crumbled in the front seat of the car, Jervis knew he needed to get the man inside.

“Oh, I’ve got you.’ While Crane was an awkwardly tall man, it was by sheer luck that he weighed as if he was a bag of feathers. Still, Jervis did his best to gingerly unfold the man from his seat, even as he rushed to carry him inside.

“Oh, Jonathan, _what in heaven's name have you_ **_done_ ** _to yourself?_ ” Nevar was instantly upon them both, squawking in agitation as he followed Jervis to the couch. The bird had enough sense to stay out of the way, even as it hopped around in fright, as Crane was lain down.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you go off like that,” Jervis unconsciously uttered aloud, his thoughts all a jumble as he desperately searched through Jonathan’s things to find his first aid kit– not at all caring about what was thrown about in the process. “ _And drat you for your unorganized chaos!_ ” It was with an excited **‘YES!’** that Tetch found what he was looking for in the last drawer of the professor’s desk, as he then ran back to the sofa at full speed.

He heard Jervis saying _something_ just over the ringing in his ears. He was on the couch now, wasn’t he? Jonathan opened his eyes, squinting and furrowing his brow until Jervis came into focus. Oh, good. He’d found the first aid kit. How fortunate the man had acted so quickly.

“Thank you.” He reached for the first aid kit, sitting up slightly despite the shooting pain and dancing spots that exploded in his field of vision. “I retrieved the chemicals.” He added quickly, as if wanting to make sure Tetch knew he hadn’t failed in the slightest. His ego needed Jervis to know that.

Jervis, who had instantly placed a hand on Jonathan to prevent him from sitting up any further, was unprepared for the other’s comment.

“That… that hardly matters right now!” The Hatter caught his tone as he noticed Jonathan visibly wincing. “Oh…” Jervis muttered, much softer this time, hand automatically cupping the man’s cheek with concern.  “ _What am I going to do with you?_ Please… **don’t move**. I need to clean you up to see the damage.”

Jervis was hesitant to leave Crane, but knew he must if he was going to assess what needed to be done. His first thought was to drag him off to the hospital, Jonathan’s anger at him be damned! Though, he supposed that was a bit too hasty. Grabbing one of the washed pots, some dish soap, and a few of the rags they had recently bought from Margaret’s store, the Mad Hatter ran outside to the only source of water on the property.

It was moments like this that Jervis despised the little hand pump even more than he already did.

“Oh, c’mon, you blasted thing!” Tetch was in no mood for this inconvenience, as he pumped the well with all his might. “Next hideout we seek, I’m demanding we make sure it’s **properly furnished!** ”

Jervis wouldn’t even allow himself the thought that there might not even be a ‘we’ come future events.

Excitement flooded through him as water was finally beginning to slosh. It took a few more pumps, the Hatter grunting from the exertion, before he picked up its contents and began running back to the barn.

Nevar was circling him, beckoning Jervis with frantic cries of getting back to its master.

“ **I know,** ” the man exclaimed, his own nerves getting the better of him. Jervis was back at the couch in no time, plopping down unceremoniously as he squeezed the dish soap into the water and used the cloths inside to swirl it around until it began to foam.

“Oooh, I really ought to have let this boil first. _Please forgive me_ , Hare, as I don’t think _either of us_ have Time’s favor at the moment.” Sitting so that the professor was now in front of him, Jervis hesitated as he held the soapy rag in his hand.

“I’m going to start cleaning, is that alright, Jonathan?” The man asked in his softest voice, trying his best to keep his fear from showing. “ _I’ll be as gentle as possible._ ”

In his confused state, Jonathan had a moment where he thought for sure he’d just been sabotaged. Jervis had refused him the kit and then left him there. Had he left him there to die? But even through his fog, he reasoned how unlikely that was. And when Jervis returned with supplies, whatever doubts that had been left were gone.

But offering to wash his wound was ridiculous, insulting, humiliating. The sentiment was appreciated, but perhaps that was going a little far.

“I am perfectly capable. Of.” The world swam out of focus again, another wave of nausea washing over him. No, he wasn’t capable of. Not at that moment. “Yes. If you would. Thank you.”

A part of Jervis couldn’t help but find his friend’s use of manners endearing, even as the rest of him fretted. Jervis made sure to wrap his free hand around his patient for stability– lest Crane lose consciousness again and flop off the couch. Giving his own squeamish wince, Jervis dabbed around the wound as gingerly as he could.

“ This looks quite the fright, love,” Hatter murmured, his features contorting the more he saw of the mess Jonathan had made of himself. “What sort of trouble did you go and get yourself into, you silly little Hare?”

Jonathan didn’t appreciate being spoken to as if he were a misbehaving child, but given the fact Jervis was currently tending to his injuries, he let it slide. The pain the soapy cloth caused, at the very least, helped to override the pain inside his head.

“I neglected to take into consideration the fact _Metropolis’_ residential Batman _can actually_ **_fly._ ** **”** A wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, despite his uncomfortable situation. “But, for future reference, it seems a man impervious to _bullets_ isn’t necessarily _immune to Fear Gas.”_

 _‘Metropolis’ residential Batman’?_ It took far longer than it should have for the Hatter to realize whom the man had meant. Jervis’ eyes opened wide in alarm.

“ _Superman did this to you?!_ ” That brute! That… that Jabberwock! Worry was becoming rage, the gentleness he once held turning into a pool of undeniable hatred.

“ **I’ll gut him.** ” Jervis couldn’t help but growl. The man didn’t even notice the splash that went up his arm and soaked the end of his rolled up sleeve, as he thrust his hand into the pot of water for another rag. “No, _worse_ , **I’ll card him** . Cause him to destroy _the very city he holds so dear_ . The barbarian won’t get away with this, Jonathan, **_mark my words._ **”

He must have noticed he was getting too gruff, lost within his own anger. The Mad Hatter sighed– slipping back into his nurturing role.

“Oh, _but that doesn’t matter now_ .” Jervis sighed again, dabbing at the wound. The more he cleaned it, the less grotesque it seemed to be. “As horrid as it appeared, I don’t believe you’ll need stitches at the very least. The executioner seemed more keen on painting your lovely hair red than anything else. _(Little that does you when you most likely have a concussion.)_ ” The last bit was a mumble more to himself. The man continued, a bit less venomous. “Still, I rather we bandage you _post haste_ , lest you get an infection on top of all your other troubles.”

Jonathan’s fingers twitched against the cushions, not from the pain, but from the deadly edge that had suddenly appeared in the Hatter’s tone. _Oh,_ **_where_ ** _was his dignity_ **_now?_ ** Where was that voice, raging in his head over _how_ **_dare_ ** _he imply he needed someone to fight his battles for him?_ Where was the powerful presence to stop him from swooning like a young lovesick fool over hearing the object of his affections threaten murder in his defense?

Ah. Yes. That’s right, he’d left **_him_ ** in the truck. For the best, perhaps; the last thing he needed at that moment was yelling in his head. It pounded enough _without_ the Scarecrow’s mad ranting and raving.

“Yes, that’s. For the best, you’re right. I appreciate your efforts, on my behalf. There should be an antiseptic in the kit.”

He wasn’t looking forward to that part in the slightest. He only hoped he’d be able to hold on to whatever shred of dignity he had left by not whimpering like a child when the solution was applied. Thankfully, these worries were quickly disrupted when Nevar landed on his stomach, cocking his head to the side before dropping something on him. Jonathan picked it up and squinted at it, frowning in concentration.

“A _screw_? And what, exactly, am I supposed to do with this?”

Jervis had been busy rummaging through the first-aid kit, opening packets of gauze to use with the peroxide.

“Hmm?” Looking over, the Hatter noted both Nevar sitting with Jonathan, as well as the screw within his gloved fingers. “Ah, _that_ ,” Jervis said with some amusement, as he did his best to explain. “I imagine he’s merely making up for earlier. I **did** inform your little beast that if he kept _insisting_ on taking my things, I wouldn’t be able to help you with your plans.”

Had it been any other time, the Hatter would have went with the humor of scolding the bird for demanding presents only to give them away so soon. Unfortunately, this was not the time for joking around. Jervis straightened up in his seat, preparing himself for what he knew he had to do next.

“This may sting,” Jervis warned, as he lightly dabbed around the head wound. The hiss he received only made the criminal feel all the more regretful. “I know. _Shh_ , it’s alright, my dear. Not too much longer now.”

Jervis’ brows knitted together sympathetically. Oh, _oh Jonathan_. He really was sorry he had to cause more pain in order to help his Hare. A Hatter was meant to mend, fix, create. And sometimes that required undoing a seam, or taking scissors to the thing altogether in order to do so. He supposed the same could be said to inventing, especially with his current requirements of taking scrap parts to create his cards.

Still, in any case, Jonathan was not a card. Or a hat, for that matter– though he was sure he would make a quaint little darling of a thing if he so chose to become one.

These sort of nonsensical thoughts were just the thing Jervis needed to finish the task at hand– as he threw the tainted gauze in the pot with the rest of the discarded things. The man tried his best not to look into the now murky water, tainted by swirls of Jonathan’s blood.

Placing a few new gauze pieces onto the gash, Jervis began wrapping the bandage around Jonathan’s head.

“Do let me know if this is too tight. Or too loose. Any complaint, really.” It was then that it dawned on the man that he hadn’t thought to ask important questions. “How **ARE** you feeling? I imagine you must have _quite_ the headache.” Understatement of the century. “ I see there are some Tylenol in the kit– _very astute in planning on your part._ Maybe you should consider taking a few after we finish up here? I can’t imagine it would make the situation any **_worse,_ ** in any case.”

“I’m fine.” That was a lie, but telling the truth in this situation would only have served to make Jervis worry more. He **would** be fine, presumably, and that’s what mattered. “ I will take the Tylenol, though.”

Jonathan tugged off his gloves and set them on the back of the couch, he didn’t need to end up accidentally hurting himself or Jervis with them in his muddled state. Or, worse, damaging the inner spraying mechanisms.

“I… I can’t quite recall the protocol for… _head injuries.”_ Interesting how his own mind seemed to dance around and purposely avoid the word ‘concussion’. The nature of fear; forever fascinating. “Is sleep what I **_need_ ** , or must I **_avoid sleep_ ** at all costs?” He was speaking more to himself than anyone else now, squinting at his raised hand, trying to get his eyes to focus again. Finally his anger and frustration with himself reached its boiling point and that raised hand clenched into a fist that he pressed firmly against his forehead. He shut his eyes tightly.

 **“I can’t** **_recall_ ** _._ I. I can’t even **think** clearly.” Jonathan paused here to sigh, and get his temper under control. And then, “Jervis. You’ve done a fantastic job so far. I am truly fortunate you were here with me tonight. I have work that needs to be done, but I don’t think. It’s difficult for me to.” Another short, frustrated sighing huff. “ _Would you mind checking in every now and again to make sure I’m. Still conscious?”_

He felt ridiculous, both asking for help and being unable to articulate his own thoughts into words. He was quite used to seeking help when it came to the matter of muscle, but being unable to even take care of himself… it was degrading and frustrating on uncomfortable levels.

Jervis was in the middle of starting to pack up the kit, planning on getting his friend a bottle of water so he could take the pills, when he was stopped in his tracks.

“I can do you one better, I’ll be staying with you.” The Hatter lifted up the pot, frowning inside at its contents with disdain. “After I pour this out and fetch you a drink for your medication. I’ll be back, lickety split, I assure you.”

Once outside the barn’s doors, Jervis let his true feelings show as he sloshed the water onto the ground. He was worried. Even more worried than he had let on. Yes, the man most certainly had a concussion. Jonathan could hardly string words together, and it was frightening him. Jervis had to stop himself from the urge to bite at his knuckles, as his hands still hadn’t been properly cleaned.

A part of him didn’t think they ever would be.

Still, back on track, Jonathan needed to be watched over. Jervis was still tempted to sweep the man up and drive him to the nearest hospital, despite the fact it would lead to them both being caught. But… Oh, maybe he was being to hasty? Too worried because of who the man was, and his importance to him. The man could probably stub his toe, and Jervis would fret over it.

No, no hospitals. Not just yet. Jonathan may never forgive him if he wasn’t able to finish his Halloween plans, especially after he had talked the man into them in the first place.

Washing his hands under the pump, Jervis sighed as he couldn’t help but feel like he was being forced to choose between Jonathan’s life being at risk, or his friend hating him for the rest of their days. Neither options sounded especially pleasant.

Although Jervis’ chest couldn’t help but hurt a little more over the latter.

Back inside, the Mad Hatter went towards where he knew their water bottles to be stored. Grabbing a couple, Jervis opened the top as he carefully handed one to his Hare.

“Here you are.” A quick bend as he picked up the pill bottle, and poured what was needed into Jonathan’s outstretched hand. “And there’s that.”

The Mad Hatter sat at the end of the couch, grabbing the throw pillow, as he gently placed it on his lap. Jervis patted the pillow invitingly.

“Do lay down, please. I really don’t think you should be sitting up in your state.”

Jonathan lowered the water bottle after taking the pills, and just stared at the pillow in Jervis’ lap. He couldn’t _possibly_ be suggesting he lay his head there. He couldn’t be _serious_ . There was no way Jervis didn’t see the _romantic implications_ of such an act.

His eyes trailed up to search for any sign of jest or amusement on his face and realized he was wrong. Jervis still had not a single inkling of the torture his European brand of kindness was affording him. Jonathan suddenly felt mildly guilty over tainting the sanctity of friendship, _a luxury so_ **_rare_ ** _amongst rogues and thieves,_ with his love-addled mind.

“This level of coddling is hardly necessary, Tetch.” He twisted the cap back onto the bottle and set it on the floor. “Really. We’ll look **ridiculous.** ” He sat up and swung his feet off the couch. “If anyone saw us we’d never hear the end of it.” He adjusted himself and lay down the other way, laying his head in Jervis’ lap and staring up at him with tired, deadpan eyes.

“But I suppose I’d be a _fool_ to dismiss the attention of my blond-haired, blue-eyed nurse.”

Jonathan’s teasing hit home, causing Jervis’ thoughts to fumble and tumble about his mind– despite the fact all Crane did was list his features. Jervis looked away sheepishly.

“Oh hush now, there isn’t a single thing ridiculous about it. And that will be my defense, should the King and Queen of Hearts put us on trial.” Jervis looked back down at Jonathan, placing a hand on his own chest as he defended their case. “ _’Your honor,’_ I’ll say, _‘I’m Hatta, and this is Haigha, and it was while out sending messages that this_ **_poor creature_ ** _hurt himself. It was my_ **_duty_ ** _to pick him up, set him upon my lap, before he could think to hurt himself again._ **_Surely_ ** _that is the way one handles their hares? You wouldn’t_ **_punish_ ** _a poor man for wanting to assist in the only way he knew how, would you?’_ ”

Jervis paused, taking his hand off his chest as he instead rested it on the back of his friend’s head– gingerly minding the bandages.

“No, Jonathan, I shouldn’t think his and her majesty would think anything of it after that.”

Hatter sighed, mindlessly fiddling with the man’s hair as he voiced his worries.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright, love? I can’t help but fret– _you didn’t see the state you were in._ Crumbled against the steering wheel, _matted_ **_bloodied_ ** _hair._ ” Jervis shuddered, wishing to be rid of the memory altogether. “Oh, it was quite the fright!”

Nevar, who had momentarily been forgotten, voiced his own concerns as he squawked from the back of the sofa. The crow seemed to be in agreement.

Jervis had the type of soothing voice that calmed a person. His lengthy anecdote of a fake trial had calmed Jonathan, alright, frighteningly close to slumber. Not even being likened to a defenseless rabbit Jervis had found on the side of the road was enough to snap him out of his trip to dreamland.

But the hand on his head sure was.

Jonathan’s tired eyes shot open, and every muscle clenched. He was no longer relaxed. Having his hair gently played with **_should_ ** have been relaxing, but it _wasn’t in the slightest._ Without the stinging pain from the soap and peroxide, Jonathan was suddenly very aware of Jervis’ touch.

_Oh and if I were to perish in this very moment, gazing up into those stunning pools of ocean blue, my hair slipping betwixt gently caressing fingers, I would truly be at peace with it._

“I suppose we’ll both find out come morning, won’t we? I imagine seeing me in such a bloodied state mustn’t have set well with your hemophobia. _I do apologize.”_

Jervis’ petting momentarily came to a halt as he blinked in surprise.

“… You think I have a fear of **_blood_ ** ?” Well, seeing his reaction earlier over his gloves, he supposed he wouldn’t say it was _entirely impossible._ Still, this line of inquiry led to another. “You’ve been analyzing me? Not that I mind too much– I imagine it must come as second nature, being a psychologist and all that. Although I am dreadfully _curious_ to know what other notions about me you’ve cooked up.”

Yes, it really was second nature to Jonathan to psychoanalyze everything anyone did or said, it was an unfortunate curse he bore. He quickly decided that most of the things he’d taken notice to either involved Alice or a suspected oral fixation, and neither of those topics needed to be brought up ever.

He settled on sticking to the subject of fear.

“Hmm. Perhaps hemophobia isn’t broad enough for what you suffer from? Ataxophobia… the fear of messes… is really more a fear of _untidiness_ rather than… well. Automysophobia seems a little _harsh_ , you certainly wouldn’t have agreed to live in a **barn** if you suffered from _that_.”

He was quickly beginning to relax again. This was a comfortable subject, and he was no longer being _petted._

“Seplophobia might apply, but I doubt you’ll ever be in a position where **that** might be relevant. … Eremophobia, for sure. Hmm. … _Erotophobia, perhaps_?” This one was followed by a short, low chuckle. Oh, now, this was fun. It was less about actually guessing the man’s fears and more about teasing him by this point. A part of him wondered if it was some form of self-sabotage, trying to annoy him to the point of shoving him off the couch and leaving him there.

That was one way out of an uncomfortable situation.

Jervis didn’t have to know what most of the terms meant for him to realize he was being teased. And he let the man go on, as he watched him list fear after fear. Most of them went through one ear and out the other, as he instead put his time in watching Jonathan talk in the devilish excitement he tended to enjoy.

Jervis couldn’t help but recall his dream from a few evenings prior, and the way that  Dream Crane also had a mischievous streak in him. A being that wanted to poke and prod to get a reaction from him, just as readily as he would shower him with kindness. A Jonathan who would hold hands with him as they talked about all sorts of things of interest.

Jervis’ eyes couldn’t help but linger on Crane’s hands, as they rested comfortably on his stomach. A longing to recreate his fantasy momentarily flooded him, even as he pushed it away just as fast. This… wasn’t the time. Neither had it been earlier, or the day before, or the day before that.

He couldn’t allow himself the time to spare, lest he fall into his old traps. Jervis Tetch was a man of obsessions. He knew that about himself, even without the doctors at Arkham writing it down in his file. Whenever anything loving and positive happened in his life, he felt the very need to latch onto it. To hold and smother, to have it eat away at his every thoughts. To become hyper focused to the point all morals flew out the window like bread-and-butterflies. A man who had trouble with moderation, to the point it destroyed the very thing he wanted to hold dear.

The trouble with knowing this came with the fact it didn’t stop his heart from aching with want anyway. Oh, he had been doing **so well!** After his nightmare, he wanted to take Alice’s words to heart. He cared for this man. He had even accepted the fact the feelings ran deeper than he had originally thought– a man of fancy was sure to follow his dreams, after all. But Jervis had then become more aware of himself. Of… of the **boundaries** he tended to cross on a daily basis. How often he had craved to be touched and within Jonathan’s very bubble of space.

And so with this awareness had come his need to step back. Jonathan wasn’t Alice. Nor would he allow him to become her. With Alice… she had been a blank slate that Jervis had felt the need to fill with his own ideas. He could clearly see that now.

But… But he _liked_ Jonathan. For who he was. A great conversationalist, a brilliant mind, master of his craft… But he was also kind, though be it his own ways. His affections spoke through actions, more so than words. If one listened only to his words, they could be easily tricked into believing he was just wicked and cruel.

But not Jonathan, oh no. Jonathan laced his words with bite, so he could then turn around and do something kind without it taking its toll on his ego. To slip in deeds like spending his shared funds on making sure friends had what they needed, or putting up with their oddities at the expense of his own comfort. Yes, Jervis had noticed the slight flinches whenever he grew too near. The way his shoulders spiked in alarm whenever a movement came on too sudden.

It was a realization that made him self conscious just as much as it made him want to comfort his Hare even more.

But no… Jervis had become aware. And with it he had tried to set boundaries. This friendship was the best thing that happened to him in a long time, and he wasn’t going to let his selfishness sabotage him again.

… Of course, most of those plans had gone out like a candle the moment he saw Jonathan sprawled and bleeding in his truck. Here he was, encouraging the man rest in his lap-- it was enough to drive him to feel guilt at how easily it was for him to take advantage of any excuse he could for the closeness between them.

Hatter sighed, being brought back to reality by the shake of his head– most likely coming off as dismissing the professor’s opinions.

“You **must** be starting to feel better,” Jervis murmured, going back to gently stroking the man’s hair, “you’ve seemed to found your words suddenly. I should have known teasing a _poor Hatter_ was the way to improving one’s health. ”

All jesting aside, Tetch was thankful for Crane’s assessments. If that kept the man awake, he would gracefully take all the verbal lashings that were needed.

“That said, “ Jervis spoke again, before the friend in his lap could reply, “you could have gotten all the answers sooner if you merely _asked._ It’s no secret, as far as I’m concerned: I simply dislike having things that belong inside a person, spilling themselves about. And especially on **my** person. I would hardly consider it a _phobia_ . I **do** carry on in the end, _as you can clearly see._ ”

 _That accursed petting had begun again._ Jonathan took it with slightly more grace this time around, though.

“Yes, well. I wouldn’t be a proper psychologist if I **asked** rather than _assumed,_ now would I?” His tone was laced with sarcastic bitterness. Though he still found pride in his degree in psychology, dealing with the likes of the psychiatrists at Arkham had left him feeling rather disdainful toward others in the same profession.

“But preferring _insides_ stay _inside_ is an understandable notion. I am all the more flattered to know you are willing to _gut a man_ on my behalf, if that’s the case.”

Yes, his thoughts were coming much easier now. The pills had begun to help ease the pain, but he was sure it had just as much to do with the attention he was receiving.

Being reminded of what he said during his outburst was enough to make Jervis grow demure once more.

“Oh, well. I suppose my words were running before my thoughts. A terrible habit when my temperament sours, _I apologize._ ”

Hatter paused, as thoughts of what Superman did to Jonathan flooded his mind once more. Spread out in his truck, the blood that tainted his hands. Jervis’ fingers unintentionally tightening onto his Hare’s scalp, as the anger began to boil inside him once more.

“No, gutting won’t do. **Not at all.** Too personal, _too unorganized._ I haven’t even the _slightest idea_ if a vorpal blade **could** slay that particular breed of Jabberwock.”  

Maybe with a sword forged from kryptonite. A notion to gift Metropolis’ own billionaire, perhaps. Hmm, a thought indeed. _Still_ , as easy as it would be to have another take care of things, it wouldn’t address the fact that _‘hero’_ had almost done away with HIS Jonathan.

“Cards would be the way to go,” Jervis concluded, a calculating smirk spreading across his features as he could just picture the destruction a chess piece like the Kryptonian Knight could hand out as he hopped around the board. “I hear that brute has many friends. Friends like those that are housed at that little propaganda factory that can’t help but sing his praise. _Why_ , I imagine Superman would hardly know what to **do** with himself if **he** was the one to have them all _swiftly and suddenly vanish away_ with that heat vision of his.”

The grip tightening on his hair made Crane gasp, knees bending slightly as he tensed, momentarily brought back to the dream Jervis’ machine had thrown him into oh so long ago. _But, oh, it only worsened from there_. Crane lay there, unable and unwilling to move, as the Mad Hatter above him shed his gentle visage and slipped into that devious mastermind he rarely got to see. Listened to him speak of how he would cruelly destroy Superman’s entire will to live in one go. Watched that darkly mischievous grin, that deadly glint in his eyes.

Jervis’ tenderness gave him uncomfortably warm, fluttering feelings, feelings that made him want to spout poetry from the rooftops (not that he would ever allow himself to act upon such ridiculous impulses.) But **this** side of Jervis had _other_ effects on him, ones just as uncomfortable. He finally let out the breath that had been stuck in his throat, and with it came another deep chuckle.

 _“Nnnnhnhnhn… now_ **_there’s_ ** _my little deviant.”_

Jonathan’s smile slowly… very slowly… began to fall. He could have sworn he’d **heard** that thought. Had… had he said that **aloud** ? _Surely not!_ He stared up in absolute horror, searching for his answer in Jervis’ expression.

The Mad Hatter had been busy thinking about the horrors he would unleash upon all of Metropolis, when Jonathan’s words hit him like a splash of cold water to the face.

Jervis stared back, locking eyes with the man in his lap, as it dawned on him that he was equally startled by what was said. Many mixed feeling tossed about inside him: _surprise, confusion, affection, longing, and embarrassment over the things such_ **_dark words_ ** _did to him…_

The man had a concussion, he clearly didn’t know what he was saying.

Jervis had to look away. Staring at Jonathan’s chemistry set on his desk– the papers he had thrown about was a much better distraction, as he realized he would need to pick them up sooner or later.

“ _Deviant, am I?_ ” Jervis finally responded, far more breathlessly than he had intended as he addressed the only bit he would allow himself to. “Well, if retaliating on the behalf of my March Hare makes me a deviant, I… suppose I’ll have to accept that about myself.”

Jervis looked back down at Jonathan, going back to gently massaging his poor scalp more so as a distraction for _himself_ – needing to get himself away from those words that sounded far more loving than he had heard before. No no, it was in the Hatter’s head. He was hearing what he wanted to hear. The man was losing himself to a head injury, and Jervis couldn’t get himself away from his own desires long enough to handle the situation properly. He should be ASHAMED of himself for being such a greedy and despicable person!

_And yet…_

There was a tone he couldn’t help but think about again, as it made his face flush and his head swoon. Jervis bit his lip, debating on if he should continue to address this subject at all. Another shaky exhale, and Hatter decided on a tactic he preferred using: avoidance.

“ **Suppose we change the subject.** ” He suddenly said, sounding more defeated than he had meant to. “I vote the professor tell us a story. _‘ And be quick about it,’ added the Hatter, `or you’ll be asleep again before it’s done’._ ”

A mind panicking while under the effects of a concussion felt much like dreaming of being chased by something horrible, only to find you can only flee in slow motion. Jervis’ shifting expressions were enough to let Crane know that, yes, _he’d_ **_said_ ** _that._

But, despite obviously being uncomfortable, most likely more _offended_ at the _mere implication_ he had a devious streak, he seemed not to think much of it, taking it at face value, or at the very least, verbally responding to it as such. And, even if he **had** caught on to any _other implications_ , it wasn’t as if Jonathan hadn’t playfully flirted with him _before_ , and Jervis had taken it with grace then, too, even **despite** not being able to blame it on a head injury. At least Jonathan had an _excuse_ this time, it could be worse, things could **always** be worse, his mind raced at a snail’s pace, trying its best to convince himself of all the reasons he **hadn’t** just dug his own grave.

He was ready to apologize when the suggestion of changing the subject came up. Crane relaxed slightly, closing his eyes for awhile.

“… Shall I recount the tale of the three girls who lived at the bottom of a well, _or have you heard that one?”_

Jervis smiled.

“ _Mmm_ , I do believe I know that tale _quite_ intimately,” he purred. “ Although, maybe a bit too old hat for the current mood. If you know of another, however, I promise you’ll have my _undivided attention._ ”

Crane sighed in mock disappointment.

 _“I feared as much._ In that case, why don’t I tell you a story of a bright young college student who went by the name of Harleen Quinzel…”

And they spent the rest of the night like that, sharing stories of the past, embracing the present, and scheming for their future plans.

 

* * *

 

**THREE HOURS EARLIER…**

 

It was the sound of screaming that eventually greeted Clark Kent’s ears, as his nightmare world began to fade away. It was soon afterwards that he realized the screaming was coming from him. Shutting his mouth, tears having streamed down his chiseled features, Superman came back to reality with blinking bewilderment. What.. what had happened? Where was the pain? The destruction– at this Superman jerked and swiveled around through the air as all he saw was the night sky.

It was then that he remembered Scarecrow, and his red gas. No, fear toxin. He had been sprayed. Anger at having been forced through a trauma he had only seen from recordings of Krypton, hate turned to surprise as he recognized that he was still 20 feet in the air, alone.

Surprise turned to dread as Clark looked below him, seeing the broken skylight even bigger than it had originally been. Without even thinking, Superman burst through the windows– eyes opening in alarm as he noticed the broken shelving unit.

“No,” he whispered, panic hitting him hard once more as he landed on the ground– using his super speed and strength to throw boxes and metal aside. It never even dawned on Clark that he could have used his vision to check where the man was. All he could think about was the fact he didn’t know how much time had passed. For all he knew, the villain could have only moments of life left, as he lain bleeding on the concrete floor.

Relief only lasted a moment, once he reached the bottom of the broken pile. Seeing a small trail of blood that he had somehow missed before only made his worry worse.

Superman flew up into the air once more, instantly outside again as he surveyed the land around. Wheat in the distance blew with the wind, the sounds of it sounding grating and ominous to the Kryptonian’s super hearing. Still, he looked around, doing his best to see if there was a possibility of knowing if the man was alright, or if he needed immediate assistance.

The fact he didn’t see any trace of the Scarecrow only brought him a mild sense of comfort. Clark could only hope that the thief’s wounds were not as dire as the hero feared, and that he was able to take care of himself.

…Not that it left Superman any clues on what Scarecrow was doing in an old abandoned warehouse to begin with. Sighing, and doing his best to keep himself composed, Clark knew there was one last thing he needed to do. Clicking the ear piece that all members of the Justice League kept for emergencies, Superman did his best to hold back the sigh he so desperately wanted to give.

“Superman to Batman.”

Clark waited for the chirp he knew would come, as he pinched his brow in frustration.

“I’m in the middle of something, so make it fast.” The grunts he heard in the background only confirmed Batman’s story. Most likely tying up a criminal he just apprehended, seemed right as far as Clark was concerned. Superman couldn’t help the pool of dread that filled him, as he asked his next question.

“Bruce… Do you have any knowledge on the whereabouts of the Scarecrow?”

The silence that awaited him lasted far too long. It was a few moments later that the communicator chirped again. The tone in Batman’s voice was as dead serious as he could be, as the man got directly to the point.

“Alright, **start talking.** ”

Clark couldn’t help but feel he wouldn’t be getting to bed anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by our own internet hero, Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	16. Calling All Creeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman finds himself trying to figure out the nature of the Mad Hatter and Scarecrow's partnership. Meanwhile, said criminals enjoy their Halloween Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: harm to children, PTSD mention, violence, Crane's happiness?
> 
> I feel like I say this a lot, but there is a lot to unpack here.

_It didn’t make sense._

This was a thought that continuously echoed through the mind of Bruce Wayne, as he sat staring at the monitor. Squeaks of bats could be heard off in the distance every so often, bouncing off the black limestone walls along with the sound of computers humming with life. It was background noise by this point, as most noises within the cave tended to be whenever Bruce focused on a case.

It had been over a month since the Scarecrow caused a mass breakout at Arkham Asylum. While many of the inmates had soon been caught, still a few were at large. Bigger names like the Penguin, Ragdoll, and the Mad Hatter had been freed in all the confusion. Interviews and surveillance cams had led Batman to the conclusion that Scarecrow’s intention had always been to retrieve Tetch. Speaking to an attacked guard and a driver had confirmed that there had been a method to the madness, a reason for the escape. Scarecrow had wanted Hatter, the others merely had been a distraction to throw the police off their trail.

The question was… _why?_

It was a thought that plagued Bruce throughout the nights. There were other threats that would momentarily waver his obsessive thoughts, as Batman had to intervene on other matters– muggers to stop, gang activity to break up. Yet, Batman couldn’t help but have Scarecrow and Hatter on the back of his mind. Halloween had been hanging over them, like the blade of the guillotine just ready to fall upon Gotham. Scarecrow always had plans, claiming the night his as a perverse symbol of his power. A symbol of how fear takes no heed to **whom** it strikes.  Every good psychologist knew most fears **strike** at the heart of childhood.

Bruce Wayne knew this all too well.

Batman stared at the screen, drumming his fingers against metal as he tried to see what was the invisible thread connecting all the pieces. Halloween was already upon them, and soon daylight would fall.

Gotham was running out of time.

The Arkham breakout, Superman’s recount of Crane stealing pesticides outside of Metropolis, and there was no doubt that Ivy’s pumpkin farm robbery spree was involved. Most likely Scarecrow paying in a favor for her services.

_But what did it all mean?_

Batman pulled up the mug shots of both Crane and Tetch. He couldn’t help but lock eyes with them both, glaring as if to intimidate the answers from the photos. Going through the Arkham files had shown that Hatter’s last stay hinted that he had been rooming with Crane prior to his capture. Bruce couldn’t help but think of the dream machine the man had put him under, quickly scrapping that there was any connection to the current case. No. This was about the Scarecrow. Jonathan Crane was known as being asocial by nature, his history of abuse not allowing others to get close. Sharing his hideout with another meant something was going on. _Something_ had changed his MO.

And the Mad Hatter was the center of it all.

“Still at it, sir?” Bruce didn’t even turn to face his butler, instead choosing to keep staring at the screen as if the answers might materialize.

“It just doesn’t make sense, Alfred.” Bruce said, parroting his earlier thoughts.

“Hm. It _rarely does_ when it involves the likes of your fiendish rogue gallery.” Alfred replied, seeing the mugshots on the computer screen.

“No. That’s just it. It **always** does. No matter **how** twisted, there’s _always_ some level of logic to the madness. But this…” He finally turned to his butler, who handed him a cup of hot coffee. He took the cup and shook his head. “I feel like I’m missing a big piece of the puzzle.”

A beeping sound caused both of them to look back to the computer, the bat signal flashing on the screen. Bruce reached over and tapped a few keys, and a map came up, the signal shrinking and traveling to where the trouble was. A more rural area of Gotham this year.

“The last piece of your puzzle, perhaps?” Alfred quipped. Batman pulled his mask on and headed toward his batmobile without a word.

* * *

 

In a place like Gotham, being out on its streets at night was dangerous business. Rogues and beasts lurked in the darkness, crazy clowns, mad men, and mutants stalked the shadows. But tonight, it was rural Gotham that crawled with ghouls, goblins, creeps and spooks.

The difference was, these monsters weren’t nearly as dangerous. Giggling, shouting, and yelping children littered the sidewalks, all dressed up for a night of tricks and treats. Parents were always close by, however, this was still Gotham.

Perhaps it was because **everyone** was wearing ridiculous costumes that the two _actual_ monsters were not immediately noticed. A colorful Mad Hatter, and a fiendish Scarecrow marched side by side down the middle of the street, one wielding an ax, the other a scythe. They crested the hill and stood there, ominously back lit by the quickly setting sun. The Scarecrow spread his arms and shouted down to the celebrating masses.

**“Good evening, Gothamites…** **_I hope you’re all prepared to discover the true meaning of terror this All Hallows Eve.”_ **

The cadaverous specter chuckled in delight, despite the fact very few people had heard or noticed him at all. It didn’t really matter. Soon, _very soon_ , they would **all** be cowering and screaming at his feet.

The Mad Hatter was not able to stop the fond look that crossed his features as he took in the Scarecrow’s theatrics-- automatically comparing the man’s excitement to that of the children playing about at the bottom of the hill. Luckily for him, Tetch’s face was covered with the return of his golden gas mask, thus keeping it obscured as he continued to stare. Ceasing his revering, Hatter took out his pocket watch as he couldn’t help but smile at the time.

“6 o’clock. A most fitting time.” With a click of its casing, Jervis stored it away once more as his gaze fell back on the Scarecrow. “I must say, dear March, your jubilation about the affair is quite _inspiring.”_

The Mad Hatter straightened himself into attention, hand gripping his ax firmly. He forced himself to sober from his admiration high. And with it he couldn’t help but quote the Walrus, as he was prepared to go into battle.

“’ _The time has come, to talk of many things…’_ ”

While perhaps a Mad Hatter by name, Jervis Tetch looked much more like a plague doctor this night, an imposing omen of doom. Jonathan had not made that connection until that night, and the realization was _thrilling._ He was fitting into the horror motif better than Scarecrow could have ever hoped.

“And we shall! _Oh, but the fun hasn’t even_ **_yet_ ** _begun!”_ Scarecrow pointed his scythe out forward, in an overly dramatic manner, and they marched forward… an army soon following them down the hill. While the two rogues still went unnoticed by most, the shuffling mass of pumpkin beasts caused a sea of murmurs, and then the screaming began.

Giant, bloated pumpkins sat atop multiple thick, writhing thorny vines that carried them along the street. Red gas leaked from ghastly jack-o-lantern faces, and rose up into the night air, already beginning to collect and hang overhead like a pale crimson fog. Parents and children alike were screaming and running as the hoard of monsters slowly wriggled and writhed their way down the street.

He loved it when they ran, he really did, but his plague doctor wouldn’t be able to card them before the gas began to affect them if they continued on this way. Thankfully, long limbs afforded the Scarecrow with enough limber speed to cut most of the fleeing masses off before they could get too far, halting them quickly with a simple glare and a swinging scythe. Ah, yes. **_Now_ ** they recognized him. Scarecrow cackled as they ran back the other way. _Where did they think they were going to go?_ Like a pack of panicked, mindless sheep, running from the wolf, straight into the slaughter.

_Oh how he loved this Holiday._

While Scarecrow ran ahead to cut off the runaways, Hatter allowed his larger frame to do the work of capturing anyone who collided into him while they were doing their best to avoid the scythe. The collection of players to the affair grew one by one. Western cowboys, princesses, mothers, fathers, the Mad Hatter even found a perverse sense of satisfaction as he tagged a young boy with a homemade ‘S’ insignia pinned to his attire. With each capture, the criminal softly gave the same command:

Protect the pumpkins. _Guard them with your_ **_lives_ ** _._

The Mad Hatter watched in satisfaction as those under his control fought off all that drew too near, luring loved ones closer towards Scarecrow’s monsters– just to end up convulsing on the ground screaming. Tetch sighed, he always _did_ appreciate a working deck of cards.

It was while looking over his handiwork that Jervis happened upon a young rabbit, hiding behind trash cans as tears and sobs escaped her. No doubt separated from her parents in all the chaos, _the poor thing_. Not being able to resist the humor of the Alice reference, the Mad Hatter drew nearer, sneaking up behind the child as he placed the card against her temple.

“Come, my little oyster, no more tears. _‘Won’t you come and join the dance?’_ “

The rabbit, now just as deadpan and blank as all the others under his control, merely took the Hatter’s hand as they both walked calmly back to the thick of the battle.

* * *

 

The scene was pure chaos by the time Batman arrived. The entire area flooded with gas so thick it made visibility an issue, people screaming, convulsing, children crying. Just as worrying were those who **weren’t** screaming or crying, their blank stares the mark of the Mad Hatter. And he had found the pumpkins Ivy had stolen, he was pretty certain. They’d gotten a monstrous upgrade.

He’d been right about the Scarecrow and Mad Hatter working together, but from his vantage point atop a nearby building, Batman still couldn’t see **_why_ ** . They didn’t seem to be _stealing_ anything, their only goal seemed to be terrorizing these poor people.

This made sense for the Scarecrow, but why was Tetch here? He was obviously using his cards to mind control them, which was what the Mad Hatter was _known_ for, but it seemed he was doing so with no motive whatsoever. What was in it for him? What would make him so willing to participate in the Scarecrow’s seemingly pointless mayhem?

Batman donned his gas mask.There would be plenty of time to contemplate all of these things after the citizens were safe, and Tetch and Crane back in Arkham.

* * *

 

Scarecrow was in his element. The night air was filled with screams-- it was music to his ears. It was fascinating how the people under the effects of Hatter’s mind control seemed immune to his fear gas. It was still poisoning them, the pesticides were no doubt slowly killing them, whether they were aware of it or not. Killing children wasn’t one of Crane’s favorite activities, but the pesticides were integral to their fun tonight. The pumpkin beasts wouldn’t have been compatible with his toxins without them.

Scarecrow raised his scythe again to intimidate an errant man who’d accidentally run into him in his blind terror. His power trip was momentarily interrupted when the scythe was nearly yanked out of his hands. Crane looked to see a batarang-tipped rope wrapped around the end of it.

“Aren’t you a little _old_ to be trick-or-treating, Scarecrow?” Batman yanked again, causing Crane to stumble forward, but he kept a firm hold on his weapon.

“Oh, don’t worry, _Batman_ …” Scarecrow yanked back, more as a distraction than actually thinking he could out-muscle the Bat. _“It’s still all about the children, I assure you!”_

It was with a whip of his arms that Batman was able to fling the Scarecrow’s weapon out of his hands and away from them both. The Dark Knight, using the momentary distraction, was able to come upon Crane with his fists. Batman wasn’t at all surprised that the lanky man’s frame allowed him the speed to duck and dodge.

Say what you want about the man, what Crane lacked in strength he more than compensated with his reflexes. Scarecrow laughed more and more after every punch he dodged.

“Call off this madness, Scarecrow.” Batman grunted after another missed jab. “There’s no reason to hurt these people.”

It was one of Crane’s dodges that ended up working to his advantage, as Batman was able to grab onto the man’s wrist. The momentum of the move allowed the hero to swing his leg around with a kick straight into the straw man’s stomach. Scarecrow’s laughter was put on hold as he stumbled away– though very much still standing.

Batman wasn’t able to get much closer to the villain, before he felt the sensation of teeth to his leg. Looking down in alarm, Batman’s eyes opened wide as one of the carded children had latched themselves onto him. The surprises kept coming, as his cape was suddenly pulled the opposite direction– two more trick-or-treaters upon him.

“ _Ah ah_ , Red Knight.” It was the Mad Hatter. Still with his White Rabbit in hand, Tetch made his way closer towards Crane and the now swarmed Batman. “I’m admittedly new to this, but I believe these little monsters are expecting a **treat.** It would be a **shame** to disappoint them.”

Another child latched onto Batman’s other leg, and more were on the way, stalking toward him like hungry, blank eyed little zombies. _There were so many of them_ . And what was worse, they were **children.** He was used to being outnumbered… but he wasn’t going to be able to punch his way out of this fight.

But luckily, he wouldn’t have to. Batman reached down and swiped the card that had been stuck to one child’s head. The child stopped biting, looking around in confusion… and then began to scream. Batman watched in horror as the kid fell to the ground and began to convulse.

“They either die peacefully, or die **screaming** , Batman. **You** get to choose! _Isn’t that fun_?” Scarecrow wasn’t laughing anymore, but the glee in his voice was still unnerving.

“Since when do **you** do _fun_ , Scarecrow?” Batman choked and stumbled back as more children began clawing and tugging at his cape, effectively strangling him with his own cowl. Quick thinking led Batman to use his grapple gun to tie up the hoard of children, leaving them struggling on the ground. There were still more children, and even some adults. Batman suddenly realized he’d have to take out the pumpkin beasts so they’d stop spouting poison.

“And since when do you kill children? This isn’t like you at all, Crane.”

Scarecrow backed up as Batman stalked toward them. The caped crusader whipped a batarang up at the powerlines, severing them and causing them to fall down onto one of the monsters. A spark was all it took to ignite the gasses inside, and it screamed as it burst into flame, panicking and stumbling back into another, causing that one to burn as well. A third tripped over them and added to the bonfire. They weren’t very intelligent, at least. The two rogues turned back to stare at the dying monsters, and when Scarecrow turned back around to face him, he saw that for the first time that night, he was frowning.

“Aw, Batman, I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t even **_like_ ** Halloween! Here, _allow_ **_me_ ** _to help you celebrate_ **_properly!_ ** _”_

Batman reflexively brought his cape up to use as a shield when the Scarecrow reached into his pocket and threw something at him. Whatever it was hit his cape and bounced off uselessly. He brought his cape down in time to see Scarecrow fleeing and cackling. Batman narrowed his gaze and looked at the ground, bending to pick up what had been thrown at him.

“Fireballs?” The Scarecrow had just chucked candy at him, and run away laughing. Something was wrong, very wrong. And he suddenly thought he knew what it was. He brought up the item in his other hand and glared at it; the card he’d taken off of the child earlier. He dropped it onto the ground and stomped on it, crushing it, staring coldly at the Mad Hatter as he did it.

“Step away from the kid, Tetch. Don’t you have _enough_ playthings without her?”

Hatter, all the while, had been going from fiendish delight to horror as Batman worked through their defenses. No no, there was was no need to think the games were over just yet. Scarecrow’s own excitement over the exchange was enough to bring back hope, as well as some of his fluttering feelings from before. _Child-like, indeed._

The feeling didn’t get to last long, however. Tetch glared as the Bandersnatch addressed him, grip on the child momentarily tightening on reflex. There was a tone uttered from the vigilante that he _most certainly_ didn’t approve of– even if he couldn’t currently decipher its full meaning. WELL, if Batman wanted the pawn so badly… Hatter grinned from under his mask, as inspiration struck.

“Merely chaperoning, Batman, _I assure you._ But I suppose you’re right… _I’ve kept the White Rabbit for_ **_far_ ** _too long!_ ”

It merely took one thought for the child to spring into action. Batman found himself surprised once more by the young girl’s angered screams, as she charged and leapt with an unnatural tenacity. Batman was only just able to block the trick-or-treater’s clawing– as the rabid rabbit had aimed for his eyes. The Dark Knight only had so much time to react, as he had to grab onto the child to roll out of the way before an ax could make contact with either of them.

“Cease your hopping, Batman.” Tetch growled. “ **The Queen demands your head!** ”

“I’ll have to disappoint her.”

Batman stood, only to immediately have to duck, a familiar scythe slicing through the air above him. He was suddenly thrown off his rhythm when the child he was holding sank her teeth into his arm. He cried out in surprise and pain, grabbing the girl by the back of her costume and ripping her off of his person, holding her out like an angry, screaming kitten. Batman quickly scanned the area, then ran toward the nearest trash can, spilling out its contents before dropping the kid inside and slamming the lid back on.

He made a mental note to come back and get her before she suffocated.

He turned back in time to see both Tetch and Crane advancing on him, what was left of the hypnotized people behind them. The two rogues stepped and swung in an almost poetic sort of tandem, and now Batman was **certain** Crane was being controlled. He’d have to remove his mask to get at the card, but he had bigger worries at the moment. He leapt out of the way to avoid dual blades that came down to clang against the pavement instead. But this gave him an idea. Batman fled toward the nearest pumpkin beast, Scarecrow close behind, Hatter not far behind him.

“What, out of quips already, Scarecrow?”

“Merely distracted. I promise you, _I’m still_ **_quite_ ** _enjoying myself!”_

Batman suddenly veered to the side just as he heard the scythe cut through the air, connecting with the jack-o-lantern’s vine legs instead, slicing three of them off. The thing cried out, stumbled, then crashed to the ground, its head smashing against the pavement.

Four down, two to go.

Scarecrow scowled at the destroyed pumpkin beast. He had indeed been distracted. He’d failed to take into account just how _distracting_ watching Tetch attempt to behead Batman would be. But in the end, it did not matter. Tonight, was for fun. Batman was _always_ supposed to win this one. He likely never would have done this, had he thought there was any chance at all the children would end up dead. He didn’t need that on his record, too, after all.

Hatter’s mood, meanwhile, had soured immensely. Seeing the beast and pawns picked off one by one was enough to spoil his disposition– but the fact the jovial mood Scarecrow had been in before seemed to have nearly evaporated… Why, that was the **biggest** offense of the evening!

The Mad Hatter charged, his mind controlled minions following suit as Batman was now ducking and dancing against multiple assaults– as well as keeping the victims from clashing with Tetch’s ax.

“ _’One two, one two,_ **_through_ ** _and_ **_through!_ ** _’_ ” Jervis’ blade had just missed Batman and one of the carded parents– instead slicing through and spilling out the insides of yet another pumpkin party member. The Mad Hatter growled, lost in his own savagery as he very much wanted the Red Knight **dead**.

“You’re ruining **EVERYTHING!** ” Another swing, another miss as this time the ax had violently met road. It took a strong tug to lodge it from the blacktop, but the Mad Hatter was not deterred. He charged once more at the Bandersnatch, his mouth speaking ahead of his thoughts. “ _I will not_ **_ALLOW_ ** _you to take this from_ **_him_ ** _!_ ”

Tetch’s blind rage had at least gotten rid of another threat. Now that there was only one left, the air was slowly beginning to clear, the gas rising up to dissipate in the atmosphere. But his mad rantings caught Batman’s attention.

_Him_ ? Was Tetch referring to the _Scarecrow_? Batman had assumed the Mad Hatter was only using his fellow rogue as a weapon, but these new implications were almost worse. Now more than ever, he feared for Crane’s safety.

Had the Mad Hatter found a new Alice? This thought sent an icy chill through the stoic vigilante.

It was then that Batman realized he was no longer being attacked by both of them. Scarecrow stood, motionless, in the street, watching as Tetch tried again and again to take off his head. While it was difficult to tell through the burlap mask, Crane looked lost, confused, like a toy that had been forgotten and shut off. Perhaps for its own safety.

“You can’t keep **_doing_ ** this, Tetch! _It has to stop somewhere_!” Batman cried out, cryptically, dodging another blow. This one connected with the side of a building, burying the blade deep. While the Hatter struggled to free his weapon, Batman turned his attention on the Scarecrow. He didn’t even try to flee as Batman approached, just staring at him as he grabbed onto the front of his red baggy shirt with one hand, ripping his mask off with the other.

Batman gasped. There **_was_ ** no card. Crane wore an expression that looked eerily out of place on the ex-professor’s face, one Batman could only describe as dazed embarrassment. This quickly morphed into the deep frown and glaring eyes that looked much more fitting on Jonathan Crane. Was he back?

“Was that **_really necessary,_ ** Batman? You don’t see **me** pulling off **your** _ridiculous_ Halloween costume.”

Nope. He was still acting strange.

“Are you… _intoxicated?”_

Crane didn’t get the chance to answer either way before a thick, thorn-covered vine wrapped itself around Batman’s midsection. He lost his grip of Crane’s shirt as the beast tugged him back and up off the ground. Batman stared down at the monster, its jack-o-lantern maw widening as if it meant to devour him whole. The crowd of hypnotized people began to approach beneath, as if gathering to watch his demise.

A quick reach for his utility belt, and he dropped an ice pellet into the awaiting mouth of the pumpkin beast. It whined loudly as the ice began freezing it from the inside out. It let go of Batman, who drove a foot into it as he fell, causing it to shatter. Batman landed behind it as what was left of it stumbled forward blindly.

Crane cringed, throwing his arms up to shield himself as the thing pitched forward and began to topple over. It missed crushing him under it by mere inches, but unfortunately, the gasses that had been left inside leaked out, engulfing him. Crane sputtered, gasped, and coughed as the noxious fumes burned his lungs. Oh no. **Not again.**

_The people, the children, the parents, they all began to crowd in, they were laughing, jeering, pointing at him as he sat crumpled on the ground. The all too familiar feeling of panic began to rise in him, consuming him, as they laughed, phantom pain from the rocks they were throwing blooming all over._

Batman watched as Crane screamed, cried, and convulsed on the sidewalk, and shook his head. He always ended up this way. Jonathan Crane was an intelligent man, one who you would think would learn from his mistakes. It was the madness that cursed him to repeat them.

The Dark Knight didn’t get to consider the fate of the mad man for long, as his thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of the Mad Hatter gasping in horror.

“ **Jonathan!** ”

Time had stopped. Time had truly ceased to exist as Jervis Tetch had watched everything unfold in agonizing slow motion. The last pumpkin being destroyed, it collapsing and nearly crushing the man he cared for, and the rise of the toxic red gas…

And then the next thing Jervis knew, Time returned to its natural course like a slap to his senses. Nothing else mattered as Jonathan was now quaking and writhing in complete agony– his screams filling up Tetch in ways that he knew would haunt him for many nights to come.

Jervis didn’t know when his limbs had gone into action, but his ax was quickly forgotten and thrown to the winds with a loud clack. His body had gone on its own accord as he ran with everything he had to the fallen man’s side. Batman was pushed aside, just another useless obstacle between him and Crane. The world faded away, the pawns were abandoned– as they stopped their motions to just stand idly aside. The game was over, their King had been captured.

Jervis collapsed to his knees, grabbing onto Scarecrow’s shaking body as he did his best keep him from hurting himself.

“Jonathan, **stop. Stop it right this instant.** ” The scared man’s pleas were of course ignored, and all reserve Jervis would have had on the situation was quickly lost. “O _h my lord_ , Jonathan… _You didn’t give me an_ **_antidote!_ ** We, we never **planned for this!** ”

Crane wasn’t the only one shaking, as Tetch’s heart was racing in absolute terror. Jonathan’s eyes had rolled back into his skull, and every so often his clawed gloves would slash into the air– as if his nightmares were showing him some would be attacker he needed to defend against. Jervis hissed in pain as Jonathan’s wild limbs attempted to slash away at him– but still he held on.

“ _Shh,_ love. **I’ve got you** .” Jervis tried his best to soothe, even as he was choking back a sob. “ Jonathan, please, I… I’m here. **I’ve got you.** ”

It was only once the looming figure of the Bat had removed his hat– taking away his last remain of control on the situation– that the Hatter remembered they weren’t alone.

“Batman, please! **Help him!** You’ve got to **do** something!”

Batman felt awkward, as if this was a scene he wasn’t supposed to see. While logically it would seem Jervis had obviously found someone else to dangerously obsess over, it felt more… genuine this time. To uncomfortable levels. And Jonathan hadn’t been carded. If Tetch had turned his ill affections onto Crane, but hadn’t felt the need to card him like he’d done to Alice…

Either Scarecrow was going along with it to use Tetch’s lovesick loyalty to his advantage, or…

It didn’t really matter right now. Batman realized this wasn’t the time nor the place to be contemplating the nature of whatever kind of twisted relationship the two had been engaged in. He had… a lot of people to tend to. He had call the ambulance, of course, and they would take care of most of them, but the hospital was in short supply of the antidote.

“I have the antidote.” Batman pulled another rope from his belt and held it up. “And he’ll get it a lot faster the less you struggle.”

He’d need to restrain them both, of course, to avoid them fleeing in the meantime. And to stop Crane from clawing anyone’s eyes out accidentally.

Jervis Tetch felt his inside churn with despair at Batman’s words. The vigilante was giving him a **false** sense of choice. The Dark Knight was still going to choose the others, the civilians would be the first people he saved– while Jonathan was right there! Didn’t he see? He was the only one who **mattered!**

Hatter knew his choice was already made for him, as he went limp in defeat. Batman didn’t wait for a response as he took Crane from his grasp, tying the villain’s long limbs tightly to his sides to prevent him from hurting himself. The Hatter remained silent, eyes staying on his partner the whole while, even as the hero cuffed him. Batman had begun to suspect that Tetch would stay that way, as he was never one to rant and rave once captured, when the Mad Hatter spoke up once more.

“Hurry, _please_ … I can’t stand to see him like this.”

For once… Batman believed he meant what he said.

And Hatter had been correct. Others had been exposed to the poison far longer than Jonathan had, and therefor had less time. Batman administered what antidote he had, and the ambulance was on its way to tend to the rest.

Jonathan had, at the very least, stopped screaming. He was still shaking, though, leaned up against the Hatter, his head lowered as he sobbed and muttered what seemed like nonsense.

“It’s literature… _only literature!_ Please! _Don’t make me go_ **_in_ ** _there, don’t do this again… not again…”_

Batman approached the two. Scarecrow made no indication he noticed at all. “The ambulance will be here very soon. I’m sorry, I didn’t have enough antidote for him. But _they_ will.” He set Scarecrow’s mask on the ground beside him and turned to leave.

Shock at seeing Batman begin to walk away turned into silent rage. That… _that Bandersnatch!_ That absolute **boojum** ! Batman had **PROMISED** he’d help Jonathan! The vigilante had gone around delivering prizes to everyone, very much like an Alice passing around treats to all creatures that fell into her tears, that it left Jonathan with **NOTHING!** Batman had used the fact he _cared_ to keep him there, and in the end he was leaving Crane in pain **!**

A part of him wanted to rise to his feet and charge. To tackle the _would-be-hero_ , despite the fact he was severely disadvantaged. He wanted to claw, to bite, to hurt the Bat for every moment Jonathan writhed and suffered.

But it was Jonathan’s suffering that kept him in place, still sitting on the ground as Crane cried out _secret after secret_ . And it wasn’t too long after the police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The paramedics had went about for the civilians first, despite the fact Batman had already saved _them_. Tetch held his tongue, until one of the officers had made her way over towards the criminals.

“ _Please,_ he still needs the antidote.” This was still mumbled through his mask, and Jervis felt a sense of relief go through him as the cop removed it. The autumn air felt cold against his face, but still he pressed on. **“Help him.** ”

“We will Hatter,” the woman’s voice was stern, but she nevertheless did as promised. The officer called for help, a paramedic making his way over, even as she was already starting to pull Hatter to his feet and away from the scene.

Jervis panicked, for the first time since being cuffed he struggled against his capture.

“ **Wait** , no! I, I have to make sure he’ll be alright!”

More officers came upon him, taking multiple members of the police force to be able to pull him away. No no, not **yet** ! He couldn’t _leave_ without Jonathan! Hatter didn’t even care when he was manhandled, as his gaze refused to leave Crane’s spasming form.

It was only once the paramedic’s injected the serum into his Hare’s neck that Jervis’ frenzied state dissipated, the relief taking all fight out of him. Jervis didn’t even resent being stuffed into the back of the police wagon, as all his brain could think about was the fact Jonathan would **survive**.

The horrible images were fading now, first growing hazy and then vanishing all together like a barely remembered nightmare. Crane’s head pounded, and he could tell he’d been crying. _Wonderful._ While he hadn’t expected to get away with this little caper tonight, he also had not planned on _humiliating_ himself.

Ah, oh well. It was over now, he’d had his fun and _oh_ , what fun it had been. He was even almost **smiling** as they loaded him into the back of the wagon… and then it was gone when he looked up to see Jervis already sitting there. The momentary look of surprise turned into one of tired aggravation.

“You didn’t even _try_ to run, did you?” He asked, deadpan, as he sat on the other side, facing him.

Jervis’ relieved smile was instantly stolen from him as he felt hurt by the other man’s tone.

“What would you have me **do** , _leave you there?_ ” He could sense the fact Crane’s answer was going to be ‘yes’, so Jervis made sure to quickly cut him off before he could say something so cruel. “I… I **couldn’t** have. You didn’t… you didn’t **see** the way you **looked** , Jonathan. _You were_ **_convulsing_ ** _._ ”

Memories of the event caused the man to tightly shut his eyes, slumping forward in his seat. Jervis shuddered, wishing his hands were free to cross against his chest in comfort.

“I’m sorry… I know you’re upset with me. I know you must think me _utterly foolish_ \-- future escapes will be thrice as difficult with us both locked away. But I… I couldn’t leave until I knew you would receive the proper medical attention.” Hatter wasn’t **daft** , he wasn’t **naive enough** to think there weren’t people out in the world that would very much prefer the likes of the city’s rouge gallery to **perish** than save them.

Jervis opened his eyes, locking his gaze with the villain across from him as he tried to make him understand.

“I… wouldn’t have been able to **live** with myself if I lost you. _I cherish you_ **_too much_ ** _for that._ ”

Jervis’ words felt like a knife blow directly to his heart. Crane had spent his entire life staying alive solely to spite those who would prefer he was never born. Everyone he had ever known. And now this man, this fool, sat before him to tell him he cherished him? That he couldn’t go on if he was gone? How dare he?

Crane lowered his head and shook it slowly.

“Jervis… you still have so much to learn about being a criminal. It’s all about survival. **Friends** are all about _convenience_ . If you can’t cut yourself off from them the moment they become a detriment to your safety or your freedom.. _. you aren’t going to_ **_survive._ ** _”_

So, this was how it ended. Jonathan knew he would have to start pushing the man away eventually. The caper had been the perfect example of why it was necessary. Their friendship was no longer only affecting him, but Jervis as well. It was time to give it up, no matter how much it was going to hurt. _For both of their sake._

Jervis looked back at the man in shock. He… he couldn’t believe what the man was saying!

“No, **you’re wrong** . You don’t actually **believe** that.” Hurt turned into steely determination. “You can’t… you can’t just go around saying things you don’t **mean.** ‘ _Convenience_ ’, what utter **poppycock!** Was it ‘ _convenient_ ’ when you broke into Arkham to rescue me? Where was your concern **then** , Jonathan?”

No, respecting boundaries was one thing. But he was **not** going to let this man sabotage their friendship over something as ridiculous as **this!** Yet again, Jervis found himself in his unfortunate habit of speaking without thinking.

“Friends aren’t pawns that can be easily tossed aside. I learned that from _you_ , Jonathan. I’ve learned what it was like to wake up feeling like somebody **cared** about the fact I still existed. _That was real!_ What we shared wasn’t a mere _‘convenience’_ , and I know you **know** that!”

Crane seemed to be stunned into speechlessness, and Jervis’ thoughts were too much in a frenzy to realize that maybe he should cease with his wild babbling.

“You know what I believe, Jonathan? _You’re frightened._ You’ve been alone so long in this _mimsy of a world_ , that the moment you think there’s a bump in the road, you want to pack up and call it an evening. You’re so _frightened_ about being **vulnerable** , that you would rather push away somebody that **dares** to love you _._ Be frightened, Jonathan Crane. But maybe consider the fact _I’m frightened too!_ ”

What was there to say after something like that? Jervis was right. He’d been **so** right, it was as if he’d looked right into Jonathan’s heavily guarded soul, and that, alone, was terrifying. But his choice of words were perhaps even more so. The use of a word like ‘love’ wasn’t unusual for the overly affectionate man, but the admission of fear directly following it cast it in a completely different light, gave it an entirely different meaning.

Fear bred anger. Jonathan’s tone had turned cold.

**_“Love_ ** me now, _do you_ ? Well then, I suppose in that case, you **should** be afraid, _Tetch._ I–” He suddenly felt as if he was being stared at, and turned his steely gaze over to the front of the vehicle, where the driver and passenger were looking back at them, their expressions very telling as to just how much they had heard.

“I would take care to mind my own business if **I** were you, **_gentlemen_ **.”

The dangerous, threatening tone caused them to quickly turn away. Good.

“This isn’t the _time,_ nor the **place.** We can continue this _fascinating discussion_ later.”

He would much prefer they didn’t, actually.

It took far longer than it should have for Jervis to realize what he had said. What words had come out of him during his passionate episode. Seeing Jonathan’s stunned widen eyes frost over into a frigid glare was enough to send a chill through Jervis over what he had done.

Emotions that had previously fueled him were now suffocating him in his own terror and dread.

“I…” No, it was never meant to slip out! Tetch had never planned on letting Jonathan know! “ **No** , _I didn’t–_ ” Didn’t mean to say anything about the nature of his feelings, let alone shout it to the world like some foolish helpless romantic. Which was **exactly** what he was.

_In one large swoop, like a monstrous crow of Carrollean lore, the Mad Hatter had just_ **_destroyed_ ** _the last piece of his life that had even mattered_.

Jervis Tetch felt the world spinning around him, reality was crumbling and falling apart faster than his mind could latch and secure the pieces into place.

Jervis stared into the void of nothingness he always found himself returning to. Lost to a darkness where even Wonderland couldn’t find him in the end. More officers hopped into the back of the wagon with them as additional security didn’t stir him. Nor the loud slam of the door that would have usually startled the skittish man. The truck lurched forward, starting it’s decent to return both the inmates to the confides of Arkham’s stone walls.

Jonathan Crane didn’t allow himself to feel anything when, scarcely heard over all the commotion, Jervis broke his silence for one last time.

_“I’m sorry, Jonathan.”_

* * *

 

The day had been saved, countless lives spared, criminals back behind bars, and yet still, Bruce Wayne sat at his computer, feeling unsatisfied. A master detective, unable to solve this mystery. It gnawed at the back of his mind, the pieces just didn’t fit.

“Did you find the last piece of your puzzle?” Alfred had come down to see if Bruce was planning on sleeping at all tonight. When he saw him staring at the computer screen, looking like **that** , he figured the answer was no.

“No, I didn’t. In fact, now I feel like I’m missing **most** of the pieces. I’m… genuinely stumped on this one, Alfred.”

Alfred raised a brow and waited. He’d be Bruce’s sounding board if need be. As he expected, Bruce continued.

“The Mad Hatter has shifted his dangerously obsessive affections onto the Scarecrow, that much is clear.”

“Oh, my. How strange.”

“I know. And it only gets _stranger._ ” Bruce spun around in his chair to face his butler. “ _Tetch wasn’t controlling Crane tonight_. At least, not with his usual technology, nothing I could see. But Scarecrow, he. He was acting strangely.”

“Strangely, sir? How so?”

“He was… _giddy._ Child-like. He was acting more like the **Joker** than the _Scarecrow_ . He _threw candy at me_ and _ran away_ **_laughing_ ** . And the look on his face when I removed his mask, he looked… dazed. Do you think the Mad Hatter _drugged_ him somehow? His _movements_ didn’t seem compromised, but…” Bruce paused here to bury his face in his hands in frustration. “I legitimately can’t tell who’s using who here, Alfred.”

Alfred, thankfully, had many years of butler practice, and therefor was able to keep from snickering. Bruce had just blatantly described a man in love, and had completely missed it.

“Sir, may I make a suggestion?”

“Please do. I feel like I’m drowning here.”

“Then may I suggest, looking at this situation from a _different_ perspective?”

Bruce brought his hands down to look at Alfred. “I’m listening…”

“Well, suppose you look at this situation from a world where Mr. Tetch and Professor Crane are _human beings_ , rather than **monsters** who **terrorize** the city you’ve sworn to protect. Do their actions seem so strange **_now?_ **”

Bruce stared at him, and he could practically see the wheels turning in his mind. Alfred had confidence that Bruce would get it now.

“Yes, they do.” Came Bruce’s reply, and Alfred’s slight smile vanished. “He threw **candy** at me, Alfred. He was **_laughing_ **. He was clearly under some kind of hypnotism, or on drugs, or… do you see how none of this makes any sense?”

“Mmm yes, quite the mystery, _indeed._ ” Alfred placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up too much, though, Master Bruce. I have faith you’ll figure this all out in due time.” Alfred turned and left, and as he did, Bruce look back at the computer screen with a sigh.

“I sure hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad Jervis made me sadder than actually writing sad Jervis. :c  
> If it made YOU sad, you should blame Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	17. I'm Frightened Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Mad Hatter and Scarecrow returned to Arkham, they must now deal with Jervis' love confession being known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: rape implication mention (though characters being jerks and alluding to it), abuse implications, feelings
> 
> Most of it is danced around, so you should be fine. I hope?

It very quickly became obvious the police officers that had overheard their conversation had told _someone._ News of Jervis’ unfortunate love confession had spread like wildfire throughout Arkham within a week. Everyone knew, and the ridicule was endless. No one called him Crane anymore, not Jonathan, not even Scarecrow. No, the cruel inmates had another name for him now.

_Alice._

Crane met most insults and teasing with a sharp tongue and empty threats, but by week three, he’d stopped entertaining their mocking jeers altogether. He ignored them, staring stoically ahead, not reacting in the slightest when they’d chuck balled up paper or other trash at him to try and get his attention. This was his life now.

The unfortunate guard that Scarecrow had knocked out and stolen his uniform still worked here and, regrettably, still remembered him. Rogers regarded him with a knowing glare and deep frown every time they crossed paths. He’d only ever said one thing to Crane, and that was to let him know that he thought it was obvious that _Crane_ was the one manipulating _Jervis_ . That was the least insulting thing he’d heard anyone say since his return to Arkham, honestly. He was thankful that at least **_someone_ **still viewed him as a threat.

Going on a month without seeing Jervis, and that was just fine with him. With help from the medication, Jonathan had managed to block that part off from himself, spending his time reading alone in his cell. And that was where he was now, huddled fearfully in the corner of his bunk, pretending to read, as the voice of the one inmate he couldn’t block out, the only one who still managed to get to him, booming just down the hall.

Bolton had been shouting at him, insulting him, for hours. Jonathan hadn’t replied once.

“I **know** you can hear me, Crane, you little rat. … You know, _it’s funny_ . Weak little pansy like _you,_ in a place like **this?** I always _knew_ you’d end up as someone’s _pretty little plaything_.”

A momentary silence. Waiting for a rebuttal, perhaps? He received none.

“You’re lucky **I’m** not a criminal, or it would’ve happened _long_ before this. It was always _so easy_ to strap you to your bed at night. Do you **know** how **easy** it would have been, if I was _really_ filthy scum like the rest of you in here?”

Jonathan shivered and curled up even tighter. Those memories were already terrible, he hadn’t needed to be reminded of just how much worse it could have been. Perhaps for the first time ever, he was relieved when two guards appeared at his cell door.

“Mr. Crane, you’re scheduled for a visit with Dr. Leland. Let’s go.”

“What? I didn’t agree to that. I have nothing to say to her.” He spat, as the guards approached. They grabbed him anyway, one on each side, and hauled him out of his cot. Jonathan didn’t struggle, even as they cuffed him, as he was honestly glad to be far away from Bolton’s thinly veiled threats, but Scarecrow felt the need to voice their complaints, just the same.

**“UNHAND ME, YOU BOORISH OAFS!”** He cried as he was led down the hall. **“Do you know who I AM? I AM THE SCARECROW! WEAVER OF NIGHTMARES! Test my patience FURTHER and you shall verily BEAR WITNESS TO A FATE TENFOLD AS HORRID AS DEATH! T** **_HOU SHALT KNOW TRUE FEAR!“_ **

The door to Leland’s office opened, and he was still raving.

_“Imbeciles!_ **Utter FOOLS!** **_Your insolence will only_ ** **–”**

The ranting stopped the moment Crane was forced into the seat that sat across from Doctor Leland. He stared at her, suddenly calm, suddenly stoic.

“Doctor.”

Dr. Leland had watched all this happen without much thought, very much used to the man’s theatrics. Still, once calmed down, she smiled across her desk at her patient.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Crane. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Yes, a very long while. Jonathan Crane had been missing for many months by that point– an alarming amount of time to be off his medication and treatment. Dr. Leland had originally been concerned when she found out that Crane had been the one to set off the last chain of escapes. Yet… she had also been hopeful. While not condoning his actions, Joan had questioned if Jervis Tetch had been another one of the rare few that Crane had deemed worthy to be a part of his life. Dr. Quinzel was, of course, an important player– a reminder to a part of Jonathan’s humanity he was willing to keep around, despite how much he relayed the fact he despised the world and the people in it.  But the idea of Crane expanding his social circles outside of crime and a former career was enough to fuel the psychiatrist’s optimism.

Of course, all of that came into question now, considering the news she had heard after their recent capture… Dr. Leland couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for that development, seeing as– in her attempt to help Tetch move on from Ms. Pleasance– she may have encouraged her patient to merely switch up his fixations.

This, naturally, all depended on if her fears were true of what may have actually taken place while her patients were away.

Dr. Leland suppressed an urge to sigh, as she carried on her conversation.

“I’m sure there’s many things we’ll need to discuss today and in the next following sessions. But first things first: how have you been doing? I was worried when I read the medical report about your concussion.”

Yes, of course she would ask about that. No doubt ready to blame it on him being reckless while off his medication. As if Crane couldn’t **function** properly when outside the Arkham walls.

“ **That** occurred _weeks_ before I was brought **_here._ ** I managed _just fine_ **without** your so-called professional treatment.”

Of course, he **had** been treated for it since being brought back, although there was little they could do for such an old injury. He wasn’t even sure why they’d insisted on its relevance by this point.

Dr. Leland chose to take no offense of Crane’s hostility. The man wouldn’t be the first patient to speak to her in such a defensive tone, nor would he be the last. The difference, of course, being the fact they shared a similar field in common between the two of them– Joan had long since been aware of the fact Crane saw treatment from other doctors as patronizing. It was as the saying goes: _doctors made terrible patients._

It was this frustration that had led to Dr. Bartholomew deciding to pass Crane off onto Leland in the first place.

“So I saw, “ the doctor eventually conceded, addressing Crane’s comments. “ I’m simply relieved it wasn’t anything worse. Though, if you wouldn’t mind discussing it, I would like to know how it happened. You and Mr. Tetch had been staying with each other at the time, correct? There… weren’t any disagreements that may have led to it, were there?”

**Oh.** And there it was again. Crane had grown weary of people implying he’d been _used_ and _abused_ by the likes of _Jervis Tetch_. Rage boiled inside of him as he sat there, the hands on his lap tightening into fists, but when he spoke, his tone was calm… but the type of calm that was very obviously forced.

“ _No_ , Doctor Leland. **_Superman_ ** gave me the _concussion_ .” He paused here for a moment to point at his head as he stared down the doctor across from him. “ **_Jervis Tetch_ ** hauled me to safety, cleaned and bandaged the wound, and _stayed up with me for hours to make sure I didn’t_ **_expire_ ** _during the_ **_night._ ** _”_

His calm tone wavered now, as his temper rose further.

“I don’t know which I find **more** ridiculous; the implication that _Jervis the coddling creampuff_ would have ever **once** thought to lay an abusive hand on me, **_or the implication that he would still be alive if he had.”_ **

His pride and ego were causing him to reveal far too much, but the comfort came from **knowing** he knew he was being manipulated by his own emotions.

The mention of Superman gave Leland pause. My, her patient had certainly been busy, hadn’t he? Breaking into the hospital, turning his attention onto innocent civilians, and now finding out Crane had gone up against the likes of the Metropolis hero? 

__

_Busy, indeed._

Honestly, she was more surprised the man hadn’t gotten away with worse, if that was the case.

Dr. Leland, after hearing the rest of Jonathan’s account, couldn’t help but feel relief once more despite her patient’s rage.

“I am more than aware of your history, Dr. Crane. I know **just** what you are capable of.” She decided to try a different approach, as she carefully danced away from any reminders of her patient’s upbringing. “While I’m happy to hear Jervis helped you– he has never shied away from the fact he sees you as his friend– I hope you realize that any questions brought up are mere precautions. As the doctor assigned to your’s and Tetch’s cases, I simply want to assure **both** of your safety.”

Sensing that Crane had calmed down some, she pressed on.

“Admittedly, I do want to ask you about him. While usually I wouldn’t bring up comments mentioned in another patient’s session, since it pertained to you I feel it important as a branching point of discussion.” Here she paused, as she went to grab the file off of her desk. Opening it to the notes she was looking for, she went on. “Jervis mentioned you helping him out of an episode he had before his previous incarceration. How much do you know about what had set him off? Have you been helping him since while he stayed with you?”

The doctor’s questions brought back a memory of holding the man in the darkness as he sobbed, listening to him pour out his heart, panicking over the thought of hurting Jonathan the way he’d hurt Alice. Oh, what he’d give to be back there. For the first time since being brought back to Arkham, Jonathan had let his guard down, and felt the deep ache of sadness, regret, longing. His heart wept for everything he’d thrown away.

Jonathan found himself struggling between refusing to out his friend, and his inner psychologist who wanted very much to discuss how far Jervis had come. In the end, his inner psychologist won out, even over the scolding of the Scarecrow, shouting about how she’d just manipulated him into a state of vulnerability.

“He was making _progress_ .” His voice was weak, almost a whimper. His gaze was fixed on his lap, and he refused to look up at her now. “He was _getting better_ . Finally recovering from those _horrid medications_ you pumped him full of, not **only** did he move on from Alice, but he felt **guilty** for what he’d _done_ to her, grew **fearful** over the possibility of… _he was happy!_ He felt appreciated, accepted, and I completely destroyed **all** of that within _one conversation_.”

He hadn’t seen Jervis in a month. _A month._ And the last time he’d seen him, Jonathan had ripped his heart out and stomped it into the ground. He could only imagine what kind of state the man was in by now. And he was to blame. Would an apology even suffice now? Was there anything at all of their friendship left to salvage?

“Even if I _am_ a psychologist… _I make a_ **_lousy_ ** _psychiatrist._ ” He closed his eyes and shook his head sadly.

Watching Crane’s reaction to her questions was intriguing. Dr. Leland listened intently, doing her best to keep her features neutral despite the sense of excitement she was feeling. Not only over the leaps and bounds Jonathan was able to make with Jervis, but of the man’s own array of emotions. Sorrow, regret– yes that one was very much clear, and easy to see it was from a personal standpoint rather than a professional one.

Leland chose to ignore the topic of medication, as the two doctors distinctly held different beliefs on the importance of it, as she instead went to the heart of the matter.

“It sounds to me, at the very least, you were a good friend to him. And sometimes that’s more valuable in the long run than what doctors can provide.” She paused, considering how to ask her next question as she tilted her head to the side. “What makes you think his progress has been hindered? Outside of restarting his medication, I mean. I won’t lie, I’ve heard second hand information about your last discussion with each other. This is my first time seeing either of you, and I think it would be beneficial to hear **your** side of things before my first session with him.”

Yes, he’d figured she’d heard of their conversation, why not, everyone else had. He was surprised, however, to think Leland couldn’t see the obvious. Did she merely want to hear it in **his** words? What kind of game was she playing? Whatever it was, Crane felt like it was one he was losing.

“I didn’t have to react the way I did. But I **_panicked!_ ** He wasn’t supposed to fall **_in love_ ** with me! **Who** falls in love with a ghoulish specter, _with_ **_fear incarnate?_ ** He **bore** his **soul** to me, Doctor Leland. _He trusted me._ He told me how much it _frightened_ him that he _loved me_ and instead of _helping him through it_ I reacted with anger. **Anger** , of all things! And now…”

Jonathan paused here, as he felt if he didn’t take a moment to collect himself, he would only end up humiliating himself by crying in front of this woman. _He would_ **_not_ ** _do that._ It was bad enough he was spouting his heart out to her. Jonathan Crane was stoic, cold, reserved, he did not blabber on and on about his _feelings_. But these were feelings that had been dangerously repressed for a month. All it had taken was a little prodding and now he couldn’t stop. It would have been different, he may feel better about the situation, if he believed she was truly here to help him, rather than study him.

“And now, not only has he been rejected _again,_ but he no doubt thinks his best friend _hates him_ . We will never reach the same level of trust we shared before. He may never be able to trust _anyone_ ever **again** ! Trust is so easily broken, doctor. _And so, so very hard to relearn.”_

Dr. Leland found herself continuously surprised by just how much she was getting out of her patient. This… was the most open about his feelings Crane had been in years, and most of it was simply because the conversation was about someone else. A sort of emotional honesty that ran adjacent to Jonathan’s feelings, while still keeping the focus off of himself. Here Joan had been considering the progress that Tetch had made from Crane’s company, but it was clearly a mutual experience.

The problem was, however, with this sort of strategy… it made it hard for her to address her current patient’s core issues when he was busy making it about another’s. The doctor would have to tread carefully, or else Jonathan might return to repressing the emotions he didn’t feel comfortable dealing with.

“You know, Dr. Crane… It’s perfectly _natural_ to feel some hesitancy after having an argument with someone you care about.” She made sure to avoid words like _‘fear’_ as the topic in regards to his own tended to set him off.

Dr. Leland went on.

“Friendships, _or any form of relationships for that matter_ , all have their moments of miscommunication and disagreements. And sometimes we say things we don’t mean, because of emotions getting ahead of ourselves. You feel regret. You are upset that you not only hurt Jervis, but that he may not forgive you for it. However… what you’re doing right now is letting your worries stop you from having the chance to fix things. Have you maybe stopped to consider that Jervis is living with his _own_ regrets too? You mentioned his feelings for you frightened him… Aren’t you curious to hear **why**?”

Jonathan knew all of these things. But, be it the medication or emotional exhaustion, for once he did not feel offended, patronized, by being told things he already knew. In a way, it felt nice to hear them… oddly comforting to be reminded. But her last question stirred up those comfortably familiar feelings of annoyance.

“It’s no _big mystery_ **why** he’s **frightened,** _doctor.”_ His sorrow filled eyes had hardened into a glare that he fixed on Leland. “He’s **_frightened_** because f _alling in love in this line of business is_ ** _dangerous_**. It makes you weak, vulnerable, _exploitable_. You become dependent on their company, and loneliness suddenly becomes _your worst nightmare_.” The shortly lived glare crumbled now, and he found his gaze shifting to her desk, instead. “You live in _constant heartache,_ knowing you can’t **say** anything, _living day by day being utterly enamored with everything they do and knowing they’ll never feel the same.”_

But there had always been a comfort in that, hadn’t there? He could love with abandon and only ever hurt himself. Only ever put himself in danger. Deep down he knew Jervis’ feelings were misguided, confused, unstable. He knew it would fall apart after a while, after he realized Jonathan did not make a good Alice stand-in. But he would never know that unless they went along with it, and it terrified Jonathan to know he could have it all if he wanted, but only for a short while. He could live a dream, embrace true happiness… until it ran out. Knowing it wouldn’t last forever was a comfort in itself, but it _wouldn’t be_ if being so vulnerable for that short length of time was enough to end them both for good.

“But _heartache_ and **fear** are two very different things. The _fear_ is in the possibility they **do** love you back. Suddenly your safety net is **_gone_ ** . _You don’t need to fear the_ **_height_ ** _for the f_ **_all_ ** _to_ **_kill you_ ** _.”_

Jonathan closed his eyes and slumped, head hung, defeated, in his chair. He’d played right into Leland’s trap, and a part of him knew he had been all along. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel slight gratitude toward the doctor, along with his shame. He’d needed to talk that out, for his own benefit, and he had to give credit where credit was due. Leland had known just how to make that easier for him.

“I have nothing more to say, doctor. I’m… tired.”

Leland listened to all of this silently, allowing Crane to talk himself through his thoughts. The sense of satisfaction she felt over her patient allowing himself to touch on these issues at all were second to the fact she couldn’t help but connect her patient’s current discussion to his family life. Jonathan Crane grew up surrounded by cruelty, no doubt the only nurturing hand he received coming from his teachers– which would have been what encouraged him to seek comfort in being a professor. This was a man who had received very little in the likes of comfort, of kindness, and so it was natural for him to feel frightened in the face of it.

Not to mention his deeper run affections he was projecting…

Again, excitement grew inside Leland at the fact Jonathan Crane was feeling romantic inclinations at all. This… Well, this changed the whole understanding on her patient. She and Bartholomew had gone into great lengths of discussion on the mere possibility of the man being able to form healthy relationships because of his traumas, with Joan time and time again pointing out he already had one in the form of Harley Quinn. But this… was from the man seeing someone as an equal, and desiring for something _more_ than a mentor/mentee on the verge of familial relations!

Still… this was not the matter Dr. Leland should be focusing on at the time. That would be something to go over in future sessions.

Joan looked at her clock, noting the time. Their time was almost up anyway, so it did no harm for them to end the session early. However, there was one more matter they needed to discuss before they could. Dr. Leland went through the papers on her desk, finding the form she was looking for.

“I understand, Dr. Crane. I want to thank you for opening up as much as you did with me today. Not only about yourself, but on Jervis’ treatment as well. I really do think your influence on him has been very beneficial to his health. In fact, I would very much like to encourage it and where it might lead for the both of you.” Here the woman paused. “However… what I feel might be beneficial is not the point. I am your doctor, and in the end of the day despite where we happen to be, you still have choices in regards to your treatment.”

Leland held up the form, bringing it into Jonathan’s eyesight.

“What I have here is your paperwork that would allow you back into the recreation room and into the group therapy sessions. **This** would allow you to engage with your fellow patients, _whomever those individuals may be._ I need to know… would you like me to sign it?”

_‘Do you wish to see Jervis Tetch again?’_ was the unspoken question.

Jonathan glanced up only briefly to see the papers, and then immediately closed his eyes and hung his head again. He supposed, despite where they decided to go from there, he’d need to first _be in the same room_ with the man. They had much to discuss, and in the end, it would really depend on how **Jervis** wanted to tackle this inconvenience. Whether they decided to forget the whole thing and never speak again, ignore the concerning emotions and remain friends on the most basic level, or… throw caution to the wind, jump blindly into foolishness, and hope they came out the other side alive.

“Yes. Thank you.” He finally muttered.

The walk back to his cell was a much more quiet one. Well, silence on his behalf, plenty of shouting and teasing from the other inmates as he passed their cells on the way back to his own. Their teasing insults were barely even heard. Jonathan had more pressing matters to focus on.

* * *

 

_Jonathan Crane wasn’t the only one having an unpleasant stay at Arkham._

Jervis had been used to receiving jeers about the things that brought him into the hospital. Mentions of Alice Pleasance had always been a particular favorite of his fellow inmates-- the mere thought that a man could be so desperate for love and affection that he would invent mind control devices just to have it was something of ridicule. There was, of course, the additional _rude implications_ that would be made from time to time– to the point Jervis had blacked out and assaulted a patient for the mere _suggestion_ that he had done anything inappropriate to the woman while she was under his control. At the time he had been furious– why, the very **nerve** of him _hurting his Alice in such a way!_

Yet, Jervis supposed, he couldn’t quite blame anyone for thinking so low of him. With recent reflections, why **wouldn’t** people assume a boundary of _that sort_ to mean anything to a man who found it _perfectly reasonable_ to take away the free will of someone he loved? What was one extra boundary in a sea of many other _perverse violations_?

He was a man with a nasty habit of breaking people, after all.

Tetch couldn’t help but flinch at the memories of the sort of things that had been said to him since his return. Some words didn’t inherently bother him– especially when you paid them to mean what you wanted or needed them to. Slurs about his feelings towards his Hare didn’t sting _quite as much_ when there were some _truths_ to them. He was in love with _Jonathan_ , and Jonathan was a _man_ . **Ergo** , his inclinations in this case were very, ah, _Greek in nature._

Jervis had been called nasty things most of his life because of the way he carried himself. Being more demure in an aggressive world was often what led to men putting another’s masculinity into question-- and the association of how that would affect a person’s more intimate moments. This was a competition the Englishman had never desired to be a part of, thus he never tried.

No, the matter of _his_ identity did not bother him.

What **did** matter was the implications that followed it. Talk of Jonathan being his _new_ _Alice_ sent bristles of unease through him. It… wasn’t true. Jervis _knew_ this. He could clearly see the difference between how he had been with Ms. Pleasance and the feelings that bubble and rose within him over his dear friend. Alice had been a fantasy, a way of him projecting his own romantic ideals onto another.

The way he felt for Jonathan Crane was **real.** This wasn’t a simple matter of somebody showing kindness his way. He cared for the mind _behind_ the actions– the little things, like the twinkle in his Hare’s eyes when he cooked up something with bite he wanted to say. Or the exasperated way he dealt with others. The softness to his cold edges he would have as he talked about the few in his life the man actually cherished. Jervis had seen past the demeanor Jonathan showed the world, and found a wonderful person on the other side.

A person who had found out just how much Jervis **admired** them, _and wouldn’t stand for it._

While most of Jervis was sure of how he felt– sure that he wasn’t doing his friend wrong, simply because of his awareness over where he failed before… There was still a part of himself that whispered doubt. A part of his mind that spoke from the darkest depths of his being, clutching his heart with its icy dread. Clutching and squeezing as it tried to pull him into the darkness with it. There this voice spoke of his selfishness. Of his lack of control of his own emotions. How everyone was **right** to worry, because in the end he would do to Jonathan the same thing he did to anything he enjoyed: he would **obsess** and **devour** _and take and take and take_ until there was nothing left of Jonathan Crane. Because no matter how much Jervis **claimed** he was a doting and caring person… in the end his love was always selfish.

_It must be, or he wouldn’t have come here._

Jervis felt himself drawn out of his thoughts by the call of his name from the television, as reality drew him away from the darkness. He could hear the tones of Summer Gleeson summarizing the events that had taken place last Halloween, as well as a follow up on additional news from ‘inside sources’ saying that it is under investigation just how much the Scarecrow was a willing participant. The recreation room seemed to be filled with that obnoxious jeering once more as the reporter mentioned his confession of love to Crane in the back of the police wagon– before the two were escorted back to Arkham Asylum.

“ _[…] Police are looking into the claims of whether or not Jonathan Crane might have also been a victim in the ordeal. And if so, what was the Mad Hatter’s actual goal in attacking the suburban neighborhood.”_

Well at the time the goal had been to make the man happy, if that silly little reporter **REALLY** wanted the scoop. What lot that did **HIM** in the end, he supposed. Jervis sighed, slumping forward in his seat. For not the first time, he truly wondered if there was a way to just stop existing until his life could go on sorting itself out…

_Preferably with the end result of Jonathan forgetting he had said something at all…_

Ragdoll sat across from the guy, one of the few not joining in with the jeering, a chess board between them. He didn’t really know how to play this particular game, but he’d sat down and hadn’t been asked to leave, and so he hadn’t. The Hatter suddenly didn’t seem like he cared much for finishing this game, which was fine, but his somber mood he was exuding filled the contortionist with a need to fill the heavy silence.

“Aw. _He said_ ** _no,_** didn’t he.” His tone dripped with mock sympathy. “You know…” He picked up one of the pieces, turning it as he inspected it, distractedly. “I just assumed you two were **already** dating, when **he** broke **in** just to get _you_ ** _out._** ” Ragdoll shrugged, and placed the piece back down on another random square.

_“That’s a lot of dedication for a man who isn’t even getting any.”_

Jervis had long since abandoned playing the game properly with the rouge across from him. With Ragdoll moving rooks in odd directions, and having knights fly all across the board, there was no point in saying anything about it. Jervis moved his own black queen over to its king, a look of annoyance crossing his face at the other man’s vulgarity.

“’ _You should learn not to make personal remarks_ ,’” He mumbled, his ears flushing slightly all the same,” _‘it’s very rude.’_ And **furthermore** , it’s equally impolite to _assume_ things. Jon- “Jervis caught himself, “ **_Professor Crane_ **just happens to be a decent person who doesn’t wish his friends ill will, is all.”

No matter what happens between the two of them, he would **not** allow the tarnishing of Jonathan’s good name. Not in his own presence, in any case.

“A _decent person_ ?” Ragdoll grinned. “The **_Scarecrow_ ** ?” Wow, this guy really **was** delusional. When Ragdoll thought of the Scarecrow, he thought of a ranting lunatic in a bad mask spraying poison on innocent civilians. The man had set a school on fire, and the two of them had spent their Halloween torturing children. Try as he might, he could not imagine Jonathan Crane being a decent person in any sense.

“… What do you two even **_do_ ** ? What **is** friendship to the _master of fear_ ? _Holding hands_ , skipping through a _cornfield?_ Ghost stories told by the light of a burning orphanage?”

Jervis couldn’t help but feel if he mentioned half of the things that had transpired while living with Crane, it might just be additional fuel to the metaphorical fire. Something told him that alluding to just how _domestic_ they had been might end up making Ragdoll mock the two of them _even more_...

“ **We talk** .” Hatter decided that was the safest answer. “We both have our opinions on our literary tastes, so many of our nights after work have been filled discussing authors we enjoy. The man has a nasty habit of finding Stephen King _worth reading_ . **Bah** _._ ”

Amusement over the memory was quick to turn to lamenting as he recalled the fact they may never end up speaking to each other again, let alone over books and tea. Jervis’ voice grew soft, as he fiddled with one of his pawns between his fingers. It felt better to look away from his fellow inmate, as looking at Ragdoll’s striking features tended to remind him of the one he _really_ wished he was sitting with– playing the game **properly.**

“I don’t know _why_ I’m bothering answering you. I’m _more than aware_ of your nature to poke and prod others for your own enjoyment. You certainly did that _numerous times_ with Oswald, the last time I was here.”

Tetch frowned at the memory, realizing that he was most likely just a replacement until Penguin got caught again as well.

They… talked? About books? Crane had broken into prison to get the Hatter out so they could _talk about books?_ Either he was missing something, or those must have been some pretty great books. Ragdoll was about to comment on this when the Hatter continued, quickly outing him before he could. Ragdoll frowned.

“I’m getting the impression you don’t enjoy my _company_.” He whined. His frown slowly bloomed into another manic grin when he heard and felt someone come up behind him and stand there silently.

“ _Uh-oooh._ We’ve been _caught_ . The wife’s home _early._ ”

Ragdoll flinched slightly when a hand reached over his shoulder, but relaxed when it merely flicked over the piece that had a crown on it. Ragdoll stared down at the piece lying there, blankly. Did this have some kind of significant meaning? He turned his gaze up to Crane, who was glaring down at him with a deep frown, for a little help.

“It means you’ve **_lost._ ** ” Crane extended an arm to point across the room. “Now **move.”**

Ragdoll turned back to the Hatter, and shrugged. “Oh, darn, would you look at that. _I guess I lost.”_

__

He stood and vacated the premises, and Crane threw him one more disdainful glare before sitting in his place. His attention was immediately drawn down to the board, the white pieces arranged in a way that made no logical sense at all.

“Was he even **_playing_ ** chess?” Crane commented, incredulously, gesturing to the board with an outstretched hand.

The exchange before Ragdoll left had barely registered in Jervis’s brain, as his attention had immediately been stolen by Jonathan’s mere existence. Eyes wide, looking torn between elation and fear as he watched the man’s every movement… Jervis had to remember to breathe as he did his best to address the man sitting across from him.

“Jonathan! I…”

Nerves getting the best of him, Jervis looked at his hands as he tried to remember everything he knew about keeping polite company after having been rejected by the other party. Not at all surprising that he couldn’t recall having ever crossed such information before. Jervis swallowed and pushed on despite it.

“You… _look well_.” Jervis paused, raising his head to actually see if this was true, his worry over his friend winning out in the end. “You **are** well, aren’t you? I tried inquiring about your health– because of the addition of the pesticides to your toxin– but I was… told nothing. Understandably so, _I suppose_ , with them believing… ”

Tetch didn’t have the heart to finish the thought, hoping Jonathan would simply pick up the lingering implications.

Worry, concern for his well being. That was not the reaction Crane had prepared himself for. He’d steeled himself for anger, maybe even being ignored and avoided all together, but this was completely unexpected.

It made him feel a lot more guilty than he’d been feeling previously.

“I’m… fine. Thank you. They seemed more interested in my _concussion_ , honestly.  … That’s healed, too, by the way.” A short, awkward pause with which Crane used to clear his throat. “How are **you** feeling? Are you handling the medication alright?”

He’d begun collecting the white pieces and setting them in their starting positions. A distraction might make this little chat a little more bearable.

Watching Crane set up the pieces, found Jervis following suit. Black pieces in starting position, he found it oddly fitting that Jonathan would be the one taking the lead on their game– as he had been thus far in their conversation.

“It’s been easier this time around, in comparison to previous experiences. I was told I was placed on an antidepressant early on, which… apparently has been helping.” At least with his hyper-awareness of his body and his surroundings. Jervis still had **other issues** , after all. He managed a smile, though it looked more self-deprecating than actual amusement. “ _Hmph,_ they even managed to finally remove the stain in my cell. I almost feel as though I should send my **compliments** to whoever has been added to the cleaning staff.”

Jervis watched as Crane moved his white knight to F3, moving his own pawn to D5.

While small talk it may have been, Jonathan found he was legitimately glad to hear Jervis was reacting better to the medication this time… granted, it had been the withdrawals that had been the real issue to begin with, he supposed.

“Ah, that’s good to hear.” Admittedly, he hadn’t even noticed a stain the last time he’d seen the cell. But Jervis very obviously had. He moved a pawn to D4, momentarily leaving both pawns stuck face to face. It seemed fitting somehow.

“Now if only they’d do something about that awful **_door.”_ **

Jonathan mentally kicked himself. More small talk. They didn’t have **time** for this right now. Yes, things were awkward, but they had things to **_discuss_ **. And he knew Jervis would gladly dance around the subject all day long if allowed to. Jonathan sighed and got to it before he lost his nerve again.

“Jervis, I’ve been … _thinking_ . About the things you said. Are you up for an … _admittedly awkward discussion?”_

No, Jervis would never be well enough for that. There was no state of being he would ever be able to achieve in which he would be able to discuss the pain he knew was coming.

He, quite naturally, said none of this.

“Yes… If that’s what you wish.” Biting his lip, Hatter moved his knight to C6. Not exactly mirroring Jonathan’s moves, but following it all the same. “ _‘I’ll tell thee everything I can/There’s little to relate.’_ Where, **exactly** , did you prefer to start?”

Any defensiveness he may have been projecting was more from his own anxieties getting the better of him, than actually meaning it.

“At the beginning, naturally.” This held little significance nor did it make much sense, as it was difficult to know where any of this truly started.

“You were right. I was frightened. And I lashed out at you unfairly. But after pondering the situation further, I can’t fathom what would change if we **were** involved with each other, Jervis.” He replied, simply. He had lowered his tone as to not be overheard. “We already _lived_ together. We were sharing our _sleeping quarters_ , some nights _limbs intertwined_ like we’d been dating for _years_ . We went _clothes shopping_ . We _cuddled_ in a _pile of blankets_ while we watched movies, Jervis, _on multiple occasions._ I could go on, but for the sake of both our pride, _I won’t.”_

Jonathan paused here to move his second knight to C3.

“Quite frankly I’m mind boggled over the fact _neither_ of us picked up on our feelings for one another. But now that it’s been _addressed_ , we need to decide what to _do_ about it. Nothing _has_ to change, if it really _frightens you_ so much.”

Jervis had felt his dread grow with every word Jonathan had said. Ah, here it was. The part where the professor was going to say that while he deeply cared for him on a platonic level, he would not be able to return his romantic feelings. That he was **yet again** chasing a dream he could not have. That Crane didn’t **want** anything else from him because _companionship was enough_ , as it should have been for **him**.

Jervis had been busy watching Crane move his piece, waiting for the other shoe to drop– _waiting for the very words he knew were going to happen…_

When instead he found his head snapping to attention– the game instantly forgotten.

“… _I beg your pardon?_ ” Before Jonathan could repeat himself, Jervis spoke again– not believing what he had heard. “Did you say ‘ **_our_ ** feelings for one another’? As… As in _you…_?”

Jonathan sighed, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his hand. He was hoping they could skim over that part.

“Yes. As in **_I_ ** . And for far longer than **you** , might I add. … … Was my _incessant flirting_ not enough of a _clue_ ? _The Scarecrow doesn’t_ **_flirt,_ ** _Jervis.”_

He lowered his hand and looked at Jervis now to add, “Being in a relationship would make us exploitable, you know. It would make us _vulnerable_ . But denying the way we feel will only make us exploitable **_and_ ** miserable. _What_ would you have us **_do?_ **”

Jervis was beginning to feel light headed from the whiplash of emotions playing within him. This… this conversation was not going as he expected **at all.** Jonathan wasn’t **angry** at him for having developed feelings. He wasn’t **rejecting him.** No… this was a _love confession._ Maybe not tied up in ribbons and bows– certainly not dressed in such a way that the Englishman would have even recognized it as such, had he not just heard the confirmation from the man’s very lips. No, Jonathan was telling him of his love as if it was **fact** – and simply wished to know how they should carry on from there.

The romantic in Tetch wanted to focus on the part he thought mattered– having this be the moment where he could start declaring his feelings to the man with _endless determination._ He wanted to turn this into a moment like those he had read in books and seen in the cinema– where the hero would tell his paramour just all she meant to him, and how the struggle to get to that point had been **worth it.**

The large smile that had been spreading on his face instantly ceased, as Jervis quickly realized this was not the time for that. No, his Hare had admitted his own feelings, but they were not yet at the conclusion of their tale. They were at a stand still, facing off against each other like two cowboys in a spaghetti western, and it was time for Jervis to draw his pistol. To create some way of getting Jonathan to see that having a life with him was worth whatever the future may hold.

**Jervis took a deep breath, and fired.**

“Well… Have you considered that having a relationship would make us stronger? _Less vulnerable_ , if you would, because together we could be a **force to be reckoned with?** ”

The man paused, hand hesitating to reach out to touch Crane’s before doing so to prove just how dedicated he was to making this work.

“I’ll admit, I’m still new to the more… ah, _insidious lifestyles of Gotham._ I know I’m not especially seen as threatening, in comparison to some of the more notorious and infamous members of our rogue gallery. But.. But I can **learn to be,** if that’s what you need from me. If you need to feel secure with the idea of a partner, _in every sense of the word_ , that is willing to go great lengths for you– I offer you look no further than **here** . _I love you,_ Jonathan Crane. And I would like to continue our adventure down this rabbit hole, _if you would so let me._ ”

Jonathan listened to this all while staring at the hand on his so he wouldn’t have to look at his face. Jervis’ sales pitch hadn’t been expected. It was oddly cute how he seemed to think his usefulness had anything to do with his decision.

Hearing the man blatantly say he loved him again both embarrassed him and filled him with an electric warmth. He wondered if those words would ever stop having that effect on him.

“Jervis, you drove an **ax** through **_asphalt_ ** . You attempted to _chop Batman’s head off_ in my _defense_ .” Perhaps Jonathan should have waited for the warm flutters to die down before he’d said that, as his tone had been transparently enamored. “It isn’t your _merit as a rogue_ that worries me, it’s the fact you were **caught** because of your _feelings_ for me. You see? We _do_ make a powerful force combined, I’m not _disputing that_ . But we also may end up being a **detriment** to one another in situations that require us to make _difficult decisions._ ”

“Not that it matters.” Jonathan shrugged, really a gesture to distract his brain long enough to allow himself to turn his hand over and wrap his fingers around Jervis’ hand. “All I was looking for was a _yes_. Back down the rabbit hole we go, then.”

Jervis was _swooning._ He needn’t lie about it, nor would he be able to as the man could feel his face flushing and his eyes prickling from just how much Jonathan’s words had affected him. Be this a dream, or some Wonderland created by the likes of his own Red King… Tetch prayed to whatever deity listening to their _humble conversation_ that he shouldn’t ever be woken again.

“Oh… _oh Jonathan…_ ” Jervis’ words were soft, as even despite the noise of the television and the people around them, they were truly in their own little world.

The mood, however, was quite broken like a stone to a looking-glass, by the sound of a familiar voice hollering from the other side of the room.

“ _Still talking about_ **_books_ ** _?_ ” Ragdoll shouted– causing both Jervis and Jonathan to whip their heads in his direction– as the man had taken to wrapping his limbs wildly around himself in some sort of twisted attempt at yoga. His grin was plastered wide on his face, looking as madcap as ever.

Crane had no idea what that comment could have possibly been referring to, but he’d given up long ago trying to make sense of that particular oddball. What was mildly more concerning was the fact the few other inmates sharing the recreation room that day were also staring and snickering. Sometimes he swore being in Arkham wasn’t much different from being back in high school.

Jonathan fixed all of them with an icy glare that seemed to do nothing, and gently retracted his hand that had been holding Jervis’. But when he turned his attention back to the man across from him, his glare was gone, and he regarded him with a look of tender playfulness. With a raised brow, he tapped the chess board.

“I believe it was _your_ turn.”

Jervis’ own glare at the other villain mocking them quickly turned to a look of hurt when Jonathan had removed his hand from his. But all negative feelings were quick to vanish, as his Hare looked back at him with fondness. Jervis couldn’t help but sheepishly return it, as he picked up his bishop to continue the game.

All the pieces had fallen into place, and despite all the things that had happened and no doubt would be an obstacle to overcome in their future…

_Jervis Tetch couldn’t help but feel like he had already won._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by both Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com  
> and Moonie: https://thenthereisthisstuff.tumblr.com/


	18. Sacrificial Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Leland attempts to find ways to help Jervis and Jonathan with their new relationship. Meanwhile, it's time for Arkham's monthly group therapy session...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: though not stated in the chapter itself, Riddler is talking about a scheme he had during 'The Riddle Factory' comic-- which does have slight transphobia. Again, not really addressed, except through one line. You'll see. But otherwise I think you're probably safe.

Dr. Leland had been thrilled when she heard the accounts later about her patients having reconciled once allowed to be around each other. Joan had also caught wind of Tetch and Crane having held hands in the recreation room, which in itself was its own good news on the conclusions their talk reached. Reports from guards seemed to at least show an improvements in both their moods, and that was encouragement on where to go with their treatment plans. It was something she definitely wanted to touch on in future sessions with her patients, when she was scheduled to see them again.

Before then, however, was the monthly group therapy for the incarcerated members of the hospital. Arkham Asylum held the strong beliefs that a patient’s health must first come from looking inside themselves to discover where anger was coming from. Addressing the problems of what led inmates down their paths in the first place. Many of the hospital’s patients had history of abuse or feeling like they were somehow mistreated, and Dr. Leland personally held the opinion that creating a sense of community within the groups was the way to go in showing that her patients weren’t alone in their feelings. And that a support system could develop outside of crime– or at the very least, it would let them see the humanity amongst their peers, so they could stop trying to kill each other over petty disputes.

Dr. Leland smiled as she took in the members of her session. Arnold Wesker, Harvey Dent, Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane were on both sides of her– as she sat in her seat, clipboard in hand. Across from her was Peter Merkel– she frown slightly as she noticed the patient had yet again torn off his name tag from his uniform. Well, that didn’t matter currently. Something to bring up later, she supposed. Finally her gaze landed on the last member of the session– Edward Nygma. She noted his displeased pout, no doubt still very upset after having been brought in a week prior. Still, she had hope that sitting next to Jervis might improve his mood– even if it was more so from the man’s habit of flattering Nygma.

Dr. Leland decided now was a good opportunity as any to start.

“Good afternoon, everyone. As always, I would like to thank you all for agreeing on joining me today for our session. I’d like to start off with asking how your week has been, before moving on to other topics.” She paused, turning her attention to the left where Wesker was seated. She smiled softly, doing her best not to make eye contact with the ventriloquist doll in his lap. “How have you been this week, Arnold?”

The small balding man, clearly flustered at having been addressed first, began to fumble over his words.

“Oh! Um, well, I…”

Arnold didn’t get to finish, as it was the doll in his lap that decided to steal the show.

“How do ya **think** we’ve been? This ain’t no five star hotel.” Arnold’s trouble with pronouncing the “B” sound turned the word “been” into “gen”.

“ _Heeey_ , how come **he** gets to bring his toys?” Peter, better known as Ragdoll, whined, pointing to Wesker and Scarface. The doll’s head turned toward him, staring him down with soulless eyes.

“He **ain’t** my **toy!** And I can bring anyone I **want** ; they let **you** in and _you’re_ the biggest dummy of ‘em all!”

“Ohh, and it **bites,** _too_ ** _!_** ” Peter tittered.

Leland had to suppress a sigh. There was always one in the group that wanted to cause trouble. It seemed Mr. Merkel had decided to rise to the occasion.

“Peter, please,” the doctor took a moment to collect herself. “Let them finish, and soon we’ll move onto you.” Her attention went back towards the Ventriloquist and his doll. “Thank you, Scarface, for sharing your honesty. As well as… _defending Arnold._ But I would appreciate it if _everyone_ in the room could refrain from lashing out at each other.”

“It’s **_Ragdoll_ **.” Peter grumbled, scowling, bringing his legs up to his chest and huddled in his chair to pout.

Dr. Leland ignored this, instead offering both doll and man a sympathetic look.

“That said, I’m sorry if your stay hasn’t been comfortable. If there’s anything you can think of that may help you, within means of your treatment plan, I would like to hear it.” She made sure to give direct eye contact to Wesker once more. “Arnold, is there anything the hospital can do to help you relax? I know you enjoy crafting, has that been beneficial for you?”

Wesker quickly threw a look at the doll in his lap, as if questioning whether it was okay to answer.

“Oh, well… I’ve been quite happy with it… I think. I… don’t think there’s anything we, um… we need right now, _thank you._ ”

Leland took it as an honest answer, giving a nod.

“I’m happy to hear that then.” Her attention turned to Dent. “Harvey? Your week?”

Harvey had been flipping a coin into the air and catching it since he’d sat down (whether out of obsession or a nervous habit, it was sometimes hard to tell). The coin landed in his hand one more time, and he looked down at it, before closing a fist around it. He looked up at the doctor.

“Can’t complain.” he growled.

Leland took his comment at face value.

“That’s good. I hear you have a visitation scheduled for tomorrow. I hope that helps keep up your positive attitude.”

The doctor continued down the line.

“Pet-” Joan was immediately interrupted by the groan given by the patient. She gave in, for the sake of the session. “Ragdoll? Has _your_ week been going well?”

Ragdoll immediately uncoiled himself from his chair, stretching his legs out with a grin. “Oh **I’ve** been _great._ ” He drew out the last word for emphasis. “The entertainment around here this week has been su- **_perb_ **!”

Jonathan Crane, sitting with his arms crossed tightly in front of him, shot him a sharp glare and bared his teeth in a silent snarl. This only caused Ragdoll to grin wider.

_“Whaaat?_ I was only _answering_ the doctor’s _question.”_

Jonathan looked away from him, but his arms remained crossed.

This time the doctor did manage to sigh. Leland didn’t need the full story to tell that Merkel, like many other inmates, had taken to targeting ‘the latest gossip’. She supposed she should at least be thankful that Dr. Crane had chose to allow the man to say his piece without a verbal complaint.

Dr. Leland forced out a smile.

“That’s something, at least. Though I feel like now would be a perfect time to remind you all the importance of setting boundaries– joking around is all good until you’re asked to **stop**.”

Her eyes momentarily flickered to the two on the end, where she could see Crane’s annoyed expression only seemed to grow. Leland went back to the group as a whole.

“In any case, let’s keep it moving along. Edward?”

“ _Oh please_ ,” Nygma scoffed, “just because I’m forced to subject myself to this **_farce_ ** , doesn’t mean I’ll _actually_ tell you how I feel . Gotham’s tax dollars must be paying you to at least deduce **something** . Tell me, _doctor_ , how do **YOU** think I **FEEL**?”

Annoyed, clearly.

“I have an inkling of an idea. You haven’t been back for long, but I hope once you’ve grown used to being back on a routine, your mood will change for the better.”

“ _We’ll see._ ” The redhead spat, ending the matter. Four down, two more to go.

“Jervis? Your week?” Leland noticed the quick look Tetch gave his partner, before sitting up in his seat as straight as his spine would comfortably allow.

“… I suppose I _also_ can’t complain. The company’s been nice, at least.”

Ragdoll leaned over to Nygma, who in turn, leaned slightly away from him with an annoyed frown. “ _That means they’ve been reading books_.” Ragdoll whispered, purposely loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jonathan’s stubborn silence wasn’t going to survive that (and the faint smile that had snuck onto his face at hearing Jervis’ comment most certainly didn’t). The first time, he could have passed it off as the insane, meaningless ramblings of a madman, and he had. But after hearing the book comment a second time, Crane was beginning to suspect an inside joke he was not privy to. He had a feeling he knew who was, though.

“What does he– what does that **_mean_ **?” He suddenly demanded, gesturing to Ragdoll with both outstretched palms, but looking at Jervis for his answer.

Jervis was equally exasperated, as he shot his own irritated glare at Ragdoll as he addressed Crane’s comments.

“Well, _at the time_ I was trying to be **discreet** _,_ Jonathan. He–”

“ _Please_ ,” Leland interrupted, already feeling like she was losing control of the group. “Let’s stay focused and keep in turn. I’ll open the floor to more free flowing conversations **after** we finish our check in.”

Joan schooled her expression once more to an agreeable demeanor, as she put her attention onto the last inmate.

“Jonathan?”

The fact he still didn’t have an answer caused Jonathan to grow even more annoyed. “I think you already _know_ how my **week** has been, _doctor._ ” he snapped, folding his arms again… only to immediately unfold them as he realized Nygma was doing that, and a petty part of him didn’t want it to seem like he was mirroring him. Then he sighed and added, in a tone much less angry and much more tired,

“Can we _please_ just get _on_ with this?”

He wanted nothing more than to be back in his cell. While he appreciated getting time with Jervis, being around this many insufferable inmates was quickly giving him a headache.

Dr. Leland couldn’t see any fault with the man’s request– and in fact, was happy to do so.

“Fair enough. I want us to move onto talking about what led to everyone’s incarceration, and open the floor to others suggesting how the situation could have been handled more effectively.”

The woman’s gaze landed on Nygma, who’s mood only seemed to sour more at the topic change.

“Edward, I’d like to start with you, since you’re the more recent arrival.”

“Oh, like I **need** the introductions,” Riddler challenged her with a glare, “I’m sure you saw my broadcasts, _doctor._ ”

“I was able to catch a few, yes.” Leland admitted. “Though not all of us in the room have had access to public television.”

Jervis blinked, genuinely curious as he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“You were on the telly? **Of your own volition?”** The Englishman’s eyes were wide with almost childish wonder. “Dormouse, just what _stories_ have you cooked up **_this_ ** time?”

As Leland predicted, Tetch’s encouragement was the trick to get Nygma to unwind and share.

“WELL, Tetch, _if you must know_ … I became the host of, while admittedly a short lived sensation:  **‘The Riddle Factory’** !” Here the Riddler waved his hand across the room to showcase the scene, as an arm monetarily wrapped around the shoulder of his friend. “I _beguiled_ my contestants with my charms as I allowed them to match wits with **_yours truly_ **.”

“Hardly sounds illegal.” Two-Face butted in, watching the man with boredom as he continued to flip his coin.

“Oh, that was the _genius_ of it,” Nygma’s smile grew wide, his green eyes aglow with pride. “Outside of stealing an airway or two, the cops weren’t able to pin a **thing** on me. Revealing scandals is what new-age journalism does all the time, what a person _does_ after the truth is known could scarcely be considered **my** fault.”

“Outside of not respecting personal boundaries and causing one woman to fatally harm herself,” Leland piped in, reminding him of the lives he ruined during his charade.

Riddler shrugged.

“Personally, I think Lady Godiva should’ve been _thanking me_ . The truth can set one free, I hear. **Out and proud** , and all that.”

The careless wave of his hand seemed to show just how much he didn’t care about what his actions caused. As always, it was about his own ego.

“That **_still_ ** doesn’t explain how you ended up back in _Arkham_.” Harvey pressed, growing impatient. He’d even stopped flipping his coin as he listened, waiting to hear just how and why the justice system landed him back in prison.

“Yeah, get to the **point** already, Poindexter, before we all suffocate on your over-inflated ego.” Scarface snapped.

Nygma growled.

“You lot merely don’t **appreciate** the showmanship of telling a _proper story_ .” Still, he sighed in a huff of frustration as he leaned back in his seat. “In any case, I suppose _hubris_ was my downfall. I was using the game show as a cover to search through Scarface’s old fronts for his lost fortune.” Riddler paused, realizing the confusion. “Scarface Scarelli, I mean. Not to have you mistake _me_ for stealing from _the two of you_ . You’d have to have something **worth** taking first.”

Riddler carried on.

“No, my mistake lied in targeting Bruce Wayne for my gossip hour. How was _*I*_ supposed to know that the man was as boring as stale bread?”

It was Jervis who piped up again.

“Oh, I could have told you _that_ , Edward. The man has always been a rather charitable employer.”

“Wayne’s a good kid.” Harvey Dent agreed.

This only seemed to upset Nygma all the more.

“I know that **NOW,** but I had **_ASSUMED_ ** he kept a skeleton or two around. No man could be THAT squeaky clean! I planned on using him anyway, because I had mentioned him being the next showstopper before my error had been known…” The rouge threw his hands up in frustration. “But then he invited _himself_ onto my show! And he **HUMILIATED** me in front of **ALL OF GOTHAM!** Turned me into a JOKE! **THE NERVE!** ”

“The Riddler? A big joke? Now **_there’s_ ** a fresh new concept.” Scarface’s eyes rolled in their sockets. Jonathan coughed into a fist to stop himself from snickering.

“You were thwarted by a _really nice man_ ? That’s all it took? Being **_wrong_ **?” Ragdoll chided with obvious amusement. Scarface turned toward him now.

“And since when do **you** have room to talk, Raggedy Andy? Didn’t _you_ get stuck in a wall for three days after the break, only to be rescued and chucked back into your cell by the orderlies?”

Ragdoll just stared at Scarface for a while, and then frowned. _“I don’t think I_ **_like_ ** _that doll.”_

“Feeling’s mutual, knucklehead, but call me doll one more time and you’ll need **real** stitches.”

A part of Nygma was insulted by the fact the attention had been stolen off himself– but considering the attention had been to ridicule him… maybe he should have been _grateful._

His wounded pride, however, demanded he say _something._

“ **Riddle me this, you half twits:**  A spirited jig it dances bright/Banishing all but darkest night/Give it food and it will thrive/ _If it is caught would you_ **_survive_ ** _?_ ”

The threat didn’t have an opportunity to be processed as Dr. Leland once more took control.

“ **Enough.** The next person to threaten another member of the group will be quickly dealt with by an orderly– _do I make myself clear?_ ”

The silence she received seemed to indicate the patients were taking her seriously. A first time warning usually ended with the orderlies putting the inmates into straight jackets. And while the doctor wasn’t personally a fan of the treatment, she knew setting an example usually led to the others behaving.

Leland took in a deep breath, before turning her attention towards Nygma once more.

“In any case, did you learn anything from the experience, Edward? How would you have gone about the situation differently?”

Riddler’s face read obvious disdain over the question.

“Weren’t you **listening?** _Clearly_ my mistake was in announcing my quarry before having **sufficient** blackmail. I’ll go for easier targets in the future, _I suppose._ ” The man paused, before shrugging. “Not that I’ll be doing this caper **again** , _of course_. Where would the challenge be if I merely redid old schemes? _Where’s the originality_!”

That was not the point the psychiatrist was going for **at all.**

“I **meant** more along the lines of positive behavior, in terms of reforming. Aren’t you **bothered** by the people you hurt, Edward?”

Nygma looked at her as if she grew a second head.

“ **What?** Why would **THAT** matter? Who gives an _iota_ of care towards **_the rich?_ **”

It was obvious she wasn’t going to break through to him during their session. She jot down a quick note in order to pass it along to his doctor, before deciding to move the session along.

“ _Jonathan, Jervis_ ,” Leland’s attention snapped towards the two of them– the sudden call of his name causing the latter to flinch. The woman tried her usual friendly demeanor that seemed to work better at dealing with Tetch, as she continued to address them both. “You’re up next. Please share with the group what led to your arrest.”

Despite it all, Jonathan still held no ill feelings about his capture or anything tied to it. And obviously, everyone here already very well knew how and why the two of them were there. But if Leland was going to insist on playing this game, he may as well amuse her. Or at least amuse himself.

“Multiple accounts of attempted homicide and child endangerment, severe property damage, environmental terrorism…” Jonathan listed off, nonchalantly, as if these things were minor and held no real significance. He frowned and added, “And they **_tried_ ** pinning us with _arson_ , as well, but it was **Batman** who started the _fires,_ not either of **_us_ **.”

“And they say _we’re_ criminals.” Jervis tutted, going along with the other man’s humor.

Leland was having none of that.

“That wasn’t **exactly** what I meant… The question was more ‘ _why did you endanger children to begin with’_?”

The professor looked her dead in the eyes, a devious grin plastered on his face.

_“’Why not?’”_

The sudden surprised titter from Hatter was quickly followed by a groan from the Riddler.

“ **Still,** Crane? Your lack of _subtlety_ is becoming _increasingly_ **_alarming_ ** _._ ” Edward shook his head, prepared to continue berating his fellow rogue when a quick glance to his side– and Jervis’ smitten smile– was enough to give him pause. “Oh, he knows. _Nevermind then._ ”

_“A little late to the party, aren’t we?”_ Ragdoll lilted. “They’re _dating_ . Everyone in _Arkham_ knows that by **_now.”_ **

Jonathan threw Ragdoll a glare he didn’t feel in the slightest, he just felt like it was expected of him at that point. Recounting their Halloween caper, and Jervis’ smile, was keeping Jonathan feeling uncharacteristically cozy.

Edward Nygma, of course, wasn’t going to let Ragdoll get the better of him. With his nose in the air, Riddler sneered down at his verbal advisory.

“ Oh please, this is hardly anything new to **me–** I’ve known about this development for **months** now.”

Any coziness Jonathan was feeling was quickly evaporating, as he grew tired of the conversation staying on their love life. His glower towards Nygma was much more genuine. Just because their relationship was known, didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep his promise of dismembering the degenerate.

“ _Zip it, Nygma.”_

“Wait, Edward, _you knew?_ ” Tetch asked, incredulously.  

Jervis couldn’t help but feel he was the last to know on the whole development. Not that he was necessarily _upset_ about it, oh no, not with such a frabjous outcome coming from it all. Still… One couldn’t help but be surprised by all the players on this stage production of his life that seemed to have the uptake _before_ him.

His redheaded friend, however, couldn’t help but show his own ire at the inquiry.

“ _Don’t be so obtuse_ , Tetch– of course I’ve known. It doesn’t take a genius to see through Crane’s poor attempts at disguising his affection for you– _though it certainly doesn’t_ **hurt.”** Nygma’s pompousness swiftly returned, at the chance to show off his master deductions. “The man was caught on multiple occasions quoting Carroll, _clearly_ you’ve spoiled that mind of his into being hopelessly smitten. It would almost be _adorable_ , in a quaint sort of way, if he wasn’t **the Scarecrow.** ”

A very specific part of Crane wanted to shout, let Nygma **know** that Scarecrow was very much **not** infatuated, it was _Jonathan Crane_ who had foolishly fallen into this death trap called love. But he held his tongue. Jonathan had a feeling these words would only hurt Jervis and confuse the rest.

Ragdoll leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, smirking at them.

“Oh I don’t _knoooow._ I think it works! Imagining mister spooky getting frisky with _anyone_ is sure to give **_me_ **nightmares.”

**“Enough.”** Harvey spoke up, obviously annoyed. “The way you two mock these men just for being in love is **disgusting** . It’s _childish!_ Haven’t any of you ever been in _love?”_

“Eehhhh, love is such a **strong** word…” Ragdoll replied.

“Ooohhhh no! I am **not** sittin’ through an episode of Lovesick Confessions story time over here! Doctor, please, **hurry** , _change the subject before it’s too late!_ ” Scarface pleaded.

Leland had been busy watching her two patients, taking in their reactions to the group’s comments about their relationship. Crane slouched in his chair, silently seething as the others talked about them. Tetch, on the other hand, had grown completely red in the face– head tilted downwards as if he was attempting to shrink away from the conversation altogether. Joan had noticed most of the jokes Jervis seemed fine with, almost even enjoyed the attention… until Merkel spoke of them being more _intimate._

Clearly some boundaries were being crossed.

“ **I agree** ,” the doctor responded, demanding the room’s attention. “Since you’ve volunteered, I suppose we’ll let you and Arnold take over for us.”

The Ventriloquist, who had been sitting awkwardly in silence during all of the commotion, flinched at the attention being brought back to him.

“If, if you’d _like_ , Dr. Leland…”

She would. And the doctor said as much, as her gaze went to her clipboard. While listening intently to Wesker go on about how he and his puppet took to breaking into his family home on the anniversary of his mother’s death, Leland quickly jot down a note to herself:

_Tetch and Crane may benefit from more privacy._

* * *

 

Joan Leland couldn’t help but stare at the giant portrait that hung over the desk of Dr. Bartholomew’s office. Amadeus Arkham, the founder of the hospital, looked down at her with piercing eyes that seemed to be able to see within her. While the bearded man’s smile spoke of compassion, Joan couldn’t help but see the sadness that lingered on his features.

Of course, most of this was probably her projecting onto the portrait– considering she knew the original Arkham’s outcome. A man dedicated to helping the mentally unwell– born from the love of his mother– only to fall victim to the likes of madness himself.

Joan couldn’t help but think of other doctors who had suffered similar fates, this naturally leading to wondering if some day the same would happen to her. She didn’t think so, while her own desires had stemmed from a similar upbringing of watching a loved one suffer– Joan’s thoughts fleetingly jumping to her grandmother’s battle with dementia– she felt her life had been otherwise stable. While she loved her job, Leland had a life outside Arkham’s walls.

Something not many others could claim.

Leland’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, as Dr. Bartholomew entered his office.

“I’m sorry for the wait, Leland, one of my patients required a bit more of a _hands on_ approach.”

Yes, Leland had heard about Paige Monroe’s decline as of late. Monroe, known to the public as Calendar Girl, recently had a birthday– which seemed to set off another episode about her youth slipping through her fingers. Joan couldn’t help but sympathize for her– Leland had read numerous studies on the long lasting negativity that the beauty industry inflicted on the women involved. Monroe was merely the outcome of rage and the mental scars it left.

Still, Joan smiled, pushing those sentiments aside as she accepted the coffee that the head doctor offered her.

“No need to apologize. I’m more than aware of how it is around here. I’m just thankful you agreed to see me at all.”

“It’s important to make time for these things.” Bartholomew replied, walking around to sit at his desk. The man took a sip of his own coffee and smiled at her. “Now, what did you wish to discuss, Dr. Leland?”

“I was hoping to go over Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch’s treatment plans…” she began, sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

“Oh yes, the new ah, _couple._ You recently had a group therapy session with them, didn’t you? How did that go?”

“Well…” Leland trailed off here. She wanted to say it had gone perfectly, but she knew that wasn’t true. “It went alright. I’m confident _some_ progress was made.” This, at least, she believed. “I was most surprised over Crane and Tetch’s behavior, though. They seemed much less on edge than usual. Smiling, joking around with each other. And I don’t believe the ’ _Scarecrow’_ made a single appearance.”

The surprised look on Bartholomew’s face was encouraging.

“ _Really,_ how unexpected. And were you able to get either of them to … open up?”

At this Joan paused.

“Not among the group, **no.** ” She shook her head sadly at this. “While Tetch didn’t seem to mind the attention, for the most part, Dr. Crane was left feeling on edge whenever the other patients began to lay on their teasing too thick.”

“No doubt an instinctual reaction to his childhood traumas,” Bartholomew concluded, resting back in his seat. “I’m not surprised to hear he reacted poorly. He’s quite guarded about his vulnerabilities.”

“That’s the thing, Crane’s been letting his walls down _because_ of Tetch’s influence.” Here Leland set down her half finished drink. “My one-on-one session with Crane has been the most he’s expressed personal feeling in **years** . Usually all lines of inquiry are met with silence, or him deflecting by attempting to analyze **me** instead. Yet, I was able to have him talk out his feelings for Tetch– to the point he allowed himself to even **enter** a relationship.”

Leland was smiling now, not even attempting to hide her excitement.

“This isn’t even _beginning_ to cover Tetch’s side of things. Dr. Crane even admitted to talking the man through his issues with Alice Pleasance– I’m _almost positive_ he was alluding to Jervis starting to set healthy boundaries, too.” The woman grabbed her cup again, locking eyes with the head doctor. “Dr. Bartholomew, I believe their friendship has done more help for their recovery than anything **we’ve** begun to touch on.”

The older man listened intently to all of Leland’s developments, brows furrowed slightly as he thought over what she said.

“It’s certainly a start, in any case.” He allowed himself to conclude. “So what, _exactly,_ did you wish to propose?”

“I believe allowing them more privacy would let them feel less like a spectacle, and get them to encourage healthy coping methods. To have a safety net, instead of feeling like they need to lash out whenever they feel threatened.” Leland sighed, prepared to lay out her admittedly wild plan. “I’d like to start seeing them both for their sessions, as well as allow them to share a cell.”

At this, Bartholomew frowned. Leland held her breath as he took a moment to voice his concerns.

“I see no issue with you seeing the two of them at once in future sessions, I agree a more secluded environment might be beneficial for them. However… Dr. Leland, might I remind you we keep our more, _criminally inclined_ patients separate for a good reason? Prolonged exposure to fellow criminals…” He trailed off her with a shake of his head and a quick wave of his hand. “I don’t need to preach to the choir here. If you think this will do them some good, I have plenty of reason to trust you’re right. I just, have one more concern.”

Bartholomew leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk.

“Are you so certain allowing them to share a cell is… safe? Fostering positive friendships is one thing, but as they’ve proven on more than one occasion, when left together unsupervised they can be _dangerous_ , a volatile duo. I’m just not sure that’s the kind of environment we should be encouraging.”

“I’m not exactly saying I want to have them off alone somewhere, playing house, doctor.” Leland took a moment to recollect herself. “They’ll be just as supervised as they are now. Consider it along the lines of the treatment plan we already provide for Pamela Isley. Her condition makes it so we must provide her with company in order to breathe–”

“Yes, a _physical_ health concern.” Bartholomew argued.

“Well, “ Leland carried on, “I argue Jervis Tetch is an individual who could benefit from something similar despite it merely being for his mental health. Long periods alone, while taking away his coping mechanism of dissociating into his daydreams, leaves him sensitive to self harm. I know it’s only been skin picking and trichotillomania so far, but I rather we get ahead of it _before_ Tetch’s lows causes anything worse. At least with Crane he can have someone to distract him from himself, and even talk him down from his moods.”

Joan sat up straighter in her seat.

“I know we’re dealing with the criminally insane. But they’re still people, at the end of the day. Individuals with their specific needs. It’s not by the book…” Leland’s eyes trailed to the portrait on the wall, Dr. Arkham still staring down at her. “But maybe _special patients_ deserves _special circumstances_.”

Leland’s confident conviction on the matter was exactly what Bartholomew was looking for. Her heartfelt devotion towards her patients was admirable. While he still felt slight trepidation on the matter, it was hard to argue against that level of assuredness.

“Alright, Doctor, you’ve convinced me. I’ll see to it that Crane and Tetch are moved to a shared cell later this week. On a trial basis, of course.”

“Yes, of course. That’s all I ask.” Leland was smiling again, that had gone a lot better than expected.

“Is there anything else?” He questioned, standing. Leland stood, as well, and shook her head.

“No, doctor, that was all. Thank you, really.”

Bartholomew headed toward the door, pausing to pat her on the shoulder. “No, Dr. Leland, thank you. Arkham is lucky to have someone with your level of devotion to her patients.” He continued on and opened the door for her.

“Oh and, be sure to keep me updated on any progress you make on those two, would you?”

“Of course, doctor. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Joan couldn’t help the grin on her face as she walked down the halls, back to her own office. She knew she was most likely growing too optimistic in her patients’ recoveries. She knew that becoming as excited and involved as she was in that moment, was most likely going to lead to a crash if there was a hiccup along the way.

But in that moment, Dr. Leland couldn’t find it in herself to worry about the troubles the future might bring.

* * *

 

If asked about it later, Jervis Tetch would tell any soul who listened that he had felt the change before it happened. Be it because of losing himself to his own infatuated high, his heart singing about how love would pull him through… or simply by virtue of luck being in his favor-- Jervis had felt it inside him.

Life within the prison walls hadn’t seemed as bleak, and the mad man couldn’t help but hum soft arias to himself as he laid on his cot– mind drifting off to what he planned on saying to Jonathan the next time they met. His Hare wasn’t one for sonnets, despite both the fact the professor was well versed in literature and that Jervis happened to be _very proficient_ at expressing himself. No, Jonathan wasn’t the type to enjoy such extravagance, nor would he appreciate him shouting it from the hospital’s rafters for all to hear.

Jervis supposed that left him with the option of whispering sweet nothings over a checkerboard, as fingers laced together and chess pieces danced for dominance. A notion that nearly left him giddy at the very idea of it.

His fleeting thoughts were put on hold, however, by the sound of the door opening at the end of the hall– footsteps bouncing off the walls as some visitor was making their way towards his humble abode. Tetch kept his eyes closed, continuing his humming of ‘ _La Fleur Que tu M'avais Jetée_ ’, when the sound of a guard speaking broke his tune.

“Alright, Tetch,” a peep of an eye was quick to show the inmate it was Rogers. The guard went on. “I have orders to escort you to see Dr. Leland. Please stand in the middle of the cell, with your hands in front.”

“' _Curiouser and curiouser’_ ,”  Jervis mumbled, otherwise doing as he was told. “ _Surely_ it can’t be Tuesday already? I know Time and I have had our **disagreements** , but I don’t recall having lost the creature to such an extent _before_.”

“It isn’t.” Rogers confirmed, scanning his card as he waited for the door to open. “You weren’t actually on the schedule for the day. It’s a last minute request, apparently.”

“One can only hope it’s _good_ news.”

Though, what sort of good news a place like Arkham could provide… well, Jervis hadn’t the faintest idea. Cuffs placed on his wrist, and a hand on his shoulder, Tetch let the guard guide him to their destination in relative peace.

* * *

 

Jonathan Crane wasn’t having a good time. He sat in a chair in Leland’s office, a deep scowl on his face. His shoulders were tense and hunched, hands hooked into claws that grasped his knees. He looked not unlike an agitated bird of prey that had been captured and stuffed in a cage.

This wasn’t his usually scheduled therapy day. Crane suspected and loathed that this meant they’d decided to increase the amount of therapy he’d be receiving. To what end? What good did they really think it was going to do? If they were simply trying to make his life more miserable, they were doing a fantastic job of it.

The fact Leland hadn’t bothered to begin the session yet was agitating him even more. He would have asked what they were waiting for, but… his glaring gaze shifted slowly over to the empty chair that sat beside him, without any other part of him moving in the slightest. He had a feeling it was less **what** they were waiting for, and more of a _whom_. His gaze slowly drifted back to Leland.

“Dare I ask what this impromptu visit is about? I haven’t **done** anything, you know.”

Leland was admittedly amused by her patient’s suspicion– though chose not to voice it. She supposed, considering where they were, she couldn’t blame the man for fearing the worst.

“You needn’t think the worst, Dr. Crane. Though, I rather wait for the other patient to arrive before addressing the reason for calling you in. ” As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. “That’s them now. **Do** come in,” Leland called, doing her best to keep her features neutral as the door opened.

Her act nearly failed at the surprised expressions her patients wore, as Jervis Tetch entered the room.

“… _Jonathan?_ ”

Eyes wide, and blinking rapidly, Rogers gently led Jervis to his seat right next to the other inmate. It was with a quick nod that the guard saw himself out afterwards. Confusion in the Hatter turned to glee at seeing the man, before it was his turn to frown in suspicion at his doctor.

“Please don’t consider me rude for asking… But what, _prey tell_ , is this about, doctor? I can promise we’ve been _perfectly reasonable_.”

Dr. Leland smiled encouragingly.

“You needn’t think visiting my office is a punishment, Jervis.” Before either inmate could retort in disagreement, the woman carried on. “In fact, I’ve called you both in to talk about where we’ll be taking your treatment plans. If neither of you argue against it, I’ve been given permission to allow you two the privacy of your own cell. **Together**.”

Jonathan hadn’t been expecting that. In fact, it had been **so** unexpected, it barely made any sense at all. For what reason would they think they should share a cell? Crane suspected it must have something to do with studying the effects of a romantic relationship between two criminally insane individuals. He refused to subject himself to that humiliation, he would not agree to being their lab rat any more than he’d already been forced to thus far.

But… then again…

Sharing a cell would certainly make _planning_ easier. And, admittedly, Crane did miss sharing his space with this mad man. Somehow. But would he survive sharing so much quiet time alone with the guy he was in a relationship with? In the recreation room, they at least had chess to fill the awkward silence that Crane wasn’t sure how to fill with conversation. Things were different now, despite him being so sure they wouldn’t be. Now Tetch **_knew_ ** he made Crane feel soft and vulnerable, and Crane was still struggling to deal with that. Sharing a cell would be torture… but it would force him to deal with it, too. It would force him to learn how to deal with these things.

“I… wouldn’t be _averse_ to the idea.” Was the only part of that he voiced, glancing over to Jervis, curious as to what he thought of this new development.

While the professor had been busy thinking about practicality, the Hatter had been busy thinking about fantasies.

Oh, yes, it certainly wouldn’t be anything like the domestic life the two had created alone together– nestled in their homely nook, wrapped around each other as they shared their secrets into the night. There would be no way for him to play the role of a dutiful spouse, making sure his Hare took breaks between his work for hay and ham sandwiches– least he be off coming and going with messages all day long. No quiet conversations over a cup of tea, no crow nestled between them– Jervis momentarily paused to worry over just how Nevar had been prevailing without them, the poor creature. No, there would be nothing like these moments that Jervis had grown to find so dear.

But the prospect of having _more_ than nothing was certainly always appealing.

“Nor I,” Jervis chipped in, his Cheshire grin spreading with infectious warmth. In his jubilation, the man couldn’t help himself when he suddenly turned towards his partner, grabbing both his hands despite the heavy awkwardness the handcuffs provided. “Oh, _this is simply frabjous!_ Pinch me, Jonathan, for I **must** be dreaming!”

The sudden yelp from Jervis as Jonathan did just what he asked, couldn’t even spoil the mood.

“Alright, settle down.” Leland interrupted the two, getting their attention once more. “Excitement’s all well and good, but I feel I must bring up that Dr. Bartholomew is only authorizing it as a trial run. You’ll be expected with this provision to stay on your **best** behavior. As well as having additional sessions with me in order to monitor any issues that may arise.”

“Additional sessions?” Tetch asked curiously.

“ _Couples’ therapy_ ,” Crane elaborated with disdain.

Crane wanted to snap about how therapy for his sake was pointless, he wanted to remind her that the two of them had lived together for well over a month without incident (for the most part), but he voiced neither of these things. Because he knew this was just another way of studying them. This was just one more thing they’d have to put up with if they wanted their freedom. They didn’t have a choice.

“If this means we won’t have to participate in group therapy with the rest of Arkham’s _delightful company_ , then how could I _refuse_ .” Biting sarcasm. His only weapon left. “But what, exactly, do you expect us to _talk about_ during these sessions? _Our feelings?”_

That was, indeed, one of the important aspects of therapy, yes.

“I wouldn’t **exactly** call it couples’ therapy,” Leland decided to focus on instead. “That implies the idea that I believe there is a problem within your relationship. Do I believe there is a lack of sympathy for others outside your social circle? **Yes.** Do I think you two are causing harm to each other? **_No._ **”

Here the doctor folded her hands onto her desk, as she considered how to sell the idea in a way that would appease Jonathan without him finding it demeaning.

“Dr. Crane, you mentioned your own progress with helping Jervis understand his past transgressions about Ms. Pleasance–”

“ **_You did?_ **” Was Tetch’s quick response to his partner– looking more surprised than offended about being talked about.

“He did.” Dr. Leland confirmed. “I am enthusiastic about these developments, and I can’t help but feel that Dr. Crane’s additional support during your sessions can help provide breakthroughs that we can’t seem to cross while you feel guarded in my presence. Think of Jonathan as…”

While Leland tried to find an appropriate metaphor, Jervis beamed softly as he offered his own suggestion.

“Should I think of him as my **_rubber duck_ **, dear doctor?”

Leland quirked a brow.

“As somebody to talk against? Something like that, I suppose. Though I would hope Dr. Crane’s insight to both psychology and his personal understanding of you would provide more of a springboard of discussion than that of a rubber duck.”

If she could get her patient to talk about his own issues while trying to diagnose Tetch’s, that would also be a bonus.

Now **this** idea was much more intriguing. While Jonathan still wasn’t keen on the idea of helping to “fix” what wasn’t necessarily _broken_ , there was something oddly alluring about Jervis playing the role of his unofficial patient. Picking apart others’ psyche was a favorite pastime of his. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least _a little bit_ curious.

Plus, Jervis certainly didn’t **_seem_ ** to mind being offered up as the metaphorical sacrificial lamb.

“If you think it’ll help.” Jonathan sighed with a half shrug.

“I certainly have no complaints.” Jervis agreed. While Dr. Leland wasn’t anything as _frightening_ as a Jabberwock or a Boojum, having someone with him that he knew wouldn’t judge him for his flaws was encouraging.

He also couldn’t help the flutter inside him at the fact the gesture almost sounded… **_romantic._ ** Just he and Jonathan, tackling on the world together– lost in _the throws of their madness_ as they attempted to reach the other side. _Oh_ , it was the sort of love that poets could only **dream** to write about!

Dr. Leland, in reality, was pleased to hear where both of her patients stood on the matter.

“Excellent. In that case, if there isn’t anything else you’d like to bring up…” She waited a moment, but wasn’t at all surprised to have them remain silent. The doctor continued. “Then I’ll have you two escorted back to your quarters. The orderlies should be just about finished moving along Dr. Crane’s things.”

It wasn’t too much longer afterwards, with both patients gone, that Joan had time to take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Allowing herself to center following her sessions was what the woman needed to process all that was going on. Leland continued to be astonished by just how much Jonathan Crane was permitting when it pertained to his partner. While she had very much _hoped_ the man would go along with it, she was expecting more… _resistance._ It began to spark a feeling inside of her that something was… **amiss.** Her optimism wanted to feel encouraged by it– that maybe Crane truly was opening up and that they were working towards steps of having both inmates reform.

And yet… Joan was so **used** to fighting against a brick wall. It was _too much_ positivity in a short amount of time…

“Now, Joan…” Leland mumbled to herself, shaking her head at the absurdity of her thoughts. “There’s no use in getting paranoid. It’s perfectly normal for people to be more agreeable when they’re surrounded by those that bring them comfort. Everything will be **fine.** ”

She hoped so… _for everyone’s sake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my artists with an M--  
> Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com  
> and Moonie: https://thenthereisthisstuff.tumblr.com


	19. Danse Macabre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans for escaping get set into motion, as an old friend returns. Meanwhile, Jervis and Jonathan come face to face with a boogieman Scarecrow can't seem to shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Abuse mention, homophobia-- thought nothing too over the top, and murder mentions
> 
> By the way, don't take anything Jervis says about Stephen King to heart. We both enjoy his work, though Moonie and I have very different opinions about what aspects of his are enjoyable.

Jonathan Crane grimaced at the dead leaves as he dragged them across the ground with his rake. They soon joined the rest of the pile he’d collected and **_oh,_ **if only looks could kill, said pile would have been set ablaze by his glare of utter disdain.

This was what this Hell considered _privilege_? Forced into humiliating, menial chores out in the cold? The fresh air was nice, admittedly, and the company was pleasant, though Jonathan would be unlikely to admit that. Jervis was on bagging duty, Edward was on raking duty with Jonathan, but the man hadn’t done anything thus far but lean on his rake and watch the others work. He was talking, and although Crane had tuned him out a good while ago, he could have guessed he was talking about himself.

For a moment, Crane’s expression turned to one of confused surprise when another dead leaf snapped off and drifted down to land in his hair. This expression quickly turned back to disdain, and then right on through to frustrated rage. He bared his teeth, dropping the rake, both hands flying up to dislodge the offending leaf from his hair with a flurry of unneeded theatrics. After all of that, the leaf, rather unsatisfyingly, drifted down to land softly on the ground.

Crane stomped on it, grinding it into the dirt, then turned his heated glare up to the tree that had dared to accost him.

“Is **this** how far the Scarecrow has fallen? Even the **_trees_ ** mock me now!”

Jervis had been grabbing handfuls of leaves to stuff into the industrial bags– his facial features scrunched in mild discomfort over the texture of nature’s confetti against his skin– when Jonathan’s sudden fury caught him off guard.

“I don’t know about _mocking,_ love,” the Hatter added, grunting as he bent over to pick up another load of debris, “but they’re certainly doing their best to keep us _busy._ ”

“ _Really_ , Tetch?” Nygma cried, clearly irked by the fact his fellow rogue had chose to ignore him. “I see how it is, get yourself a _beau_ , and suddenly I become _second fiddle_ to Crane’s _riveting discussion_ on leaves.”

“‘ _I wasn’t asleep,’_ “ Jervis quoted, giving the man an apologetic smile,” _’I heard every word you fellows  were saying.’_ You were going on about your last escapade with your lovely lady friends, were you not? I’m sure Ms. Echo and Query must be missing you just as dearly.”

“Is **that** what you got out of what I said?” Riddler shook his head, not even sure why he bothered talking to those that were _clearly_ below his mental status. “The point was the caper, **not** the company.”

“I find the company makes the caper, _personally.”_ The Englishman retorted, his eyes momentarily fluttering towards Jonathan who had gone back to grumbling at the leaves.

“ **You would.** ” Edward sneered, already growing tired over being a third wheel– or worse, _some sort of chaperone._

The leaves didn’t tremble in his wake, but he spat and muttered threats at them just the same. Jonathan knew this was silly, he knew he was only doing it for the illusion of dignity he felt it provided. Jervis and Edward’s conversation had become background noise once again, and now he became aware of another sound. _Crows._ Even they were laughing at him, and why shouldn’t they?

Except…

Not _crows_ . A **single** crow. Jonathan froze mid-rake and listened. It was a very _specific_ caw. Low, rumbling, almost resembling a crow trying to growl. A bolt of surprised excitement raced through him briefly and he stood upright, scanning the area. There. Perched atop the coils of barbed wire that adorned the walls surrounding the yard, was Nevar. Upon seeing Jonathan looking at him, the bird began excitedly bobbing up and down.

“Well, well. I continue to underestimate that brilliant bird.” Jonathan was grinning now, as he held up an arm in front of him like a perch. Nevar instantly took flight and landed on it. The rake was discarded once again, as he stroked Nevar’s chest feathers with a finger. Nevar was making that soft, sad cooing sound now, the same sound he had made nearly constantly while Jervis was stuck in Arkham the last time.

“Yes, yes, we missed you, too, _you ridiculous creature._ Now go on, we **both** know who you’re _really_ here to see.” There was no malice or bite to these words, only good humor. Nevar cocked his head to where Jonathan was pointing, and now he was cawing a different tune.

Jervis was still bickering with Edward as he continued to stuff rotting leaves into bags– _really_ , Dormouse could learn to do better at being honest with his feelings, there was nothing **wrong** with _missing_ _people_ – when he was startled by the sound of cawing. Cawing that was getting louder and unrelenting. The man hardly had time to react, before the sensation of claws in his back caused him to face plant straight into the pile Jervis was _attempting_ to clean.

“ _What in the world?!_ ” The Hatter cried into his leafy grave, swiftly rolling onto his back to fight off whatever had attacked him.

All plans of engaging in fisticuffs instantly ceased, as a familiar bird landed on his chest.

“ **Nevar!** ” Jervis was all smiles, he too going straight to giving the crow all the attention he _rightfully_ deserved. “Oh, you wonderful, **_wicked little beast!_ ** Where did you come from, **frightening** _a poor old Hatter_ the way you did!”

The bird seemed to laugh at him, bobbing his head up and down in wild excitement. Jervis couldn’t help but laugh along, happy to see their avian friend after so long. The man cooed endearments, as Nevar accepted the scratches– fluffing up his chest and flapping his wings.

“Jonathan!” Jervis called, grinning up at his partner as he finally noticed the man smirking down at him. “Look who came to visit! _However did he find us?_ ”

Nygma, who had been watching all this with a raised brow, simply snarked the first thing he could think of:

“I know you’re a _Scarecrow_ and all, but don’t you think this is a **tad obsessive** ? Keep making feathered friends, Crane, and Penguin might start thinking you’re stealing his _modus operandi_.”

While Jonathan Crane was being flooded with uncomfortably warm feelings of fondness over watching the man he loved and the only bird he’ had ever trusted playing amongst the leaves, Scarecrow was busy scheming. This opened up all kinds of possibilities. If he could get Nevar to bring them things, little things, a bit at a time, perhaps they could use that to their advantage. Machine parts, tools, chemical vials from the barn. Their escape might be closer at hand than they’d originally thought. So long as they were on their best behavior, and managed to keep both their shared cell and court yard privileges.

Nygma’s snarky retort pulled him out of his musings. Jonathan frowned at him and rolled his eyes.

“It’s just the **_one_ ** bird. I don’t use _birds_ for _crime_ , I’m not **that** far gone.” The frown turned up into a sly smirk, and he held out a hand to help Jervis get up.

“But… it _doesn’t hurt_ to have friends on the _outside_.”

Jervis gladly accepted the assistance, as Nevar knew well enough to hop off. Once the both of them were standing to their full heights, Nevar flapped and landed on the taller man’s shoulder– looking proud and like he belonged there.

Hatter’s eyes glinted in understanding at his partner’s words.

“Ah, quite true. _“‘Didn’t I tell you?’ the King repeated impatiently. ‘I must have two—to fetch and carry. One to fetch, and one to carry.’”_ ”  He paused his citing, giving the bird on the man’s shoulder a curious glance. “Do you think he can manage it on his own? Or do you suppose we could have him off sending messages? As you said, it helps to have **friends** , as in _more than one_.”

“There’s always your _gal pals_ ,” Nygma butted in, now more curious by the talk of a possible escape. Better to at least attempt to be helpful, if he could possible get in on the plan. Riddler went on: “They may have a better understanding of what you’d _actually_ require. Corvids may know _how_ to use tools, but **surely** even your **pet** wouldn’t know a wrench from a screwdriver just because you asked _nicely_ for it.”

Jonathan crossed his arms and looked away with an unhappy frown. He hated it when Nygma was right.

“Yes.” He reluctantly admitted. “He can make due when I have a _picture_ of the item I need him to find, but even _then_ he only has about fifty percent accuracy.” Jonathan laid a hand by his shoulder, the bird hopping onto it obediently.

“But, he’s found Harley once before, I’m confident he’ll do so again. And again, _and again,_ if necessary.”

Just then, the guard stationed by the entrance doors shouted to everyone working in the courtyard.

“Five minutes remaining, wrap it up, folks.”

Jonathan raised the hand on which Nevar was sitting. “Go home, Nevar. Back to the barn, you can–” He was cut off when Nevar began squawking at him angrily, jumping up onto his head and flapping his wings while he did so. _So much for being obedient._ The guard glanced over, but seemed wholly uninterested at the apparent bird attack.

“ _Jervis will you_ **_please_ ** _make him_ **_understand._ ** _”_ He hissed through clenched teeth. Jervis had a way with the bird that Jonathan just didn’t.

“Oh _you monstrous crow_ , cease your thrashing about **at once** – _you’ll hurt Jonathan.”_ Jervis came closer, reaching up towards the agitated creature. Nevar, instantly distracted from his attack on Crane’s cranium, allowed himself to be gingerly plucked from the professor’s bird nest of a hairdo.

The blond man went on, cradling the crow in his arms as he attempted to soothe and explain.

“We haven’t much time, my pet, so no arguing, listen: find us again tomorrow, but for now you must go and rest.” Jervis cooed, lifting up the bird’s beak to gently stroke the feathers under his neck. “You’ve done so well, _simply superb._ ”

Jervis raised Nevar, adjusting him to sit upon his wrist– very much as one would with a trained hawk.

“No fly off, before you catch the spades’ attention.”

And with one nudge of the flick of his arm, Nevar took flight to the sky– soon enough becoming nothing but a black spot against the sea of blue.

“ _Holy shit,_ Tetch,” Nygma said, equal parts impressed as he was amused. “Since **when** did you become a Disney Princess?”

“ **Oh hush,** ” Jervis retorted, not letting the Dormouse get the better of his mood. “Now **do** help out this time; we wouldn’t want the orderlies upset over our _poor attempts at tidying up_ , now **would** we?”

Especially now that they all needed to be on their _best behavior…_

 

* * *

 

The prison cafeteria was packed and surprisingly lively. The place buzzed with conversations between inmates, some hushed, most not. The food there was rarely great, but the atmosphere provided some level of comfort, maybe even normalcy. It sure beat eating alone in their cells, at least.

“While it was _hardly horrifying,_ I must admit King does, at the very least, seem to have **_some_** understanding of how the mind of the _truly obsessed_ works.”

Jonathan was in the middle of a conversation with Jervis regarding a book they’d both recently read. ‘ _Finders Keepers_ ’ by Stephen King, to be exact. Jonathan _did_ enjoy reading his books, not because he was necessarily a talented writer, nor because his stories were particularly frightening. No, Jonathan enjoyed his work because King had a habit of revealing far too much about himself within his books. Every story he told was an open buffet, a peek into his decidedly twisted psyche. Crane didn’t read the pieces to learn about the characters within it, he read them to learn more about the man who had written them.

Jervis, in any case, decided to give credit where credit was due.

“I suppose I can at least **understand** Bellamy’s need for closure, especially after having thrown so much of his life away for the singular goal of claiming his _forbidden fruits_ , as it were.”

At this the man sighed, looking down at the watery mashed potatoes on his tray with annoyance– Hatter hated the fact the hospital tried to pass this off as food at all. Tetch went on, using the discussion to take him away from the fact he was putting garbage into his body.

“Yet, I found the man extremely unlikable from start to finish. There was no true growth nor decline in his character– there was no **spark** nor **charm** . King could have **at least** found it in himself to make me question the humanity of the character. Yet, he was nothing but an omen of bad tidings, _a boogie man_ .” Jervis tutted, yet again finding himself in a position of having to tell his dear Jonathan the truth of the matter on the fact the author had poor tastes in story structure. “In the end I found myself siding with the young protagonist– who was attempting to break the law for the sake of his family. A **noble** cause, even if the judicial system **disagrees**.”

Jonathan sighed, shaking his head . “Oh Jervis, _you_ **_wound_ ** _me_ . I would have thought that by now, you’d have grown a _fondness_ for dark, foreboding boogie men.” His tone made it evident he was joking.

“In any case,” he quickly added, before Jervis could deny he was a boogie man and wound his ego for real. “The fact King used a **_child_ ** as the main protagonist tells me even **he** is trying to reach a younger audience now. Which is _fine_ , don’t get me _wrong_ ; getting the younger generation to read **anything** is a miracle in itself. I just wonder if he plans on _keeping up_ this trend… I may have to finally give up on him. … Koontz seems promising.”

Jonathan picked up a very stale-feeling dinner roll and sniffed it with a scowl. It was cold. He was convinced this had been left over from last week when they were served this meal.

“Then you shall have to recommend a Koontz to me sometime in the near future, love,” Jervis concluded with fondness. “ **Anything** to have us get past the _King kick_ you had us on. Although! I _do_ believe you promised me you’d take a look at ‘ _Alice in Verse_ ’ first.”

There was comfort in being able to have these sort of discussions with Jonathan, despite the fact they were locked away behind prison walls. It gave Jervis a sense of normality– a constant within his life– that no matter where the two criminals ended up… they would still have each other and their love of literature to get them through.

Tetch’s sentimental feelings, however, didn’t get to last for long, as the sound of a loud groan was enough to remind the two that they weren’t alone.

“ _Christ Almighty_ , you guys really **DO** just talk about books, don’t you?”

It was, naturally, Edward Nygma who had decided to put in his two cents on all he had just heard– the Dormouse of the group having gone silent as he had expected his fellow rogues to discuss more about their plans of escape. Instead, he was greeted by the most mundane of topics– _about their tastes in authors._

“When that buffoon brought this up in group therapy,” Riddler continued complaining, almost not believing what he had just been witness to, ”I had _assumed_ it was an euphemism– **an innuendo** ! But **THIS** , this is your _lives_ , isn’t it? **THIS** is what you guys did in that _awful little_ **_shack_ ** of yours!”

Nygma didn’t expected the likes of Tetch and Crane’s existence to be filled to the brim with excitement 24/7. Everybody needed their down time, _he supposed_ . Just… they were the Mad Hatter and Scarecrow! Surely, as those that had gone up against the likes of Batman… Riddler had at least, assumed their lives would be a _little_ more glamorous. It was almost like finding out that your favorite Playboy Bunny was never actually a librarian– taking away the _sexiness_ and making their life seem so _utterly bland_.

Not that he expected **sexiness** from the criminals next to him, mind you. Nygma had enough picturing **that** situation after Ragdoll’s ‘frisky’ comment. Ugh, _heaven forbid_ he give that a second thought. Still, it was rather **disappointing** all the same.

Jonathan let his stare linger on Nygma for awhile. And how **else** did he expect two unattached intellectuals to spend their time? Would he not be just as disappointed to discover they also cuddled in a pile of blankets and watched cartoons, or went shopping at the Farmers Market? He decided not to tackle that.

“… Yes. Going by the way he went on about it, I think it’s safe to assume that _triple jointed moron_ **_also_ **thought it was an innuendo. ” He let his gaze slowly shift back to Jervis. He was pretty sure he’d put the pieces together by now.

“I take it he asked you _what we do for fun_ , and you told him _we read books,_ correct? I’m mildly curious as to what _else_ you two might have discussed.”

Jervis sighed, not believing that this was still being brought up at all.

“It was hardly even **that** . The man had some strange notions that you enjoyed terrorizing everyone in your free time. Also something ludicrous like _skipping through cornfields_?”

Hatter held his spoon in his mouth for a moment, finishing up his meal, as he tried to recall what had even led up to the joke to begin with.

“ _Bah!_ In any case, I didn’t wish to discuss our more **private moments** – at the time I had thought you were upset with me, dear, you **must** understand that– so I went for a safer topic. I didn’t think that being lost in _the throws of reading_ would be something to mock so readily!”

Crane decided he was just fine with others assuming he was a terror even in his downtime. The skipping through cornfields part, less so.

“Well it’s no surprise someone like **him** wouldn’t understand the joy of reading, I would be _more surprised_ to discover he could read at all.”

The sound of the cafeteria doors opening wasn’t particularly interesting, but something caused Crane to glance back at them, anyway. He instantly wished he hadn’t. There stood Lyle Bolton, flanked on each side by an orderly. The hulking man scanned the room, and Crane’s blood ran cold when he locked eyes with him and smirked.

Crane whipped back around to stare hard at his tray. _“Oh dear lord what is_ **_he_ ** _doing out of his cell?”_

Crane’s sudden terrified reaction was enough to get both Jervis and Edward to look behind them– the two equally curious about the behemoth of a man making his way towards them.

“Jonathan.. _who_ **_is_ ** _that man?_ ”

Nygma, however, was smart enough to realize just _who_ was coming their way, and knew it was time to bail.

“WELL, this has been fun– let’s do lunch another time, _ciao~_ ”

If asked about it later, Riddler would say that his leaving was handle with grace, rather than the look of a small mouse trying to avoid the attention of a cat ready to pounce.

Jonathan Crane, however, didn’t have the luxury of escape, as he nearly leapt from his seat at the sensation of a heavy hand landing on his shoulder.

“ _Hello_ , Crane, I was **hoping** I’d see you here.” Bolton smirked down at the two inmates, a look that brought along more unease than it did friendliness. “I was worried something might have **happened** to you when I realized they never brought you back to your cell.”

Crane’s eyes searched the room frantically, in hopes of spotting an orderly or five that may come to his rescue. Creeping dread set in as he realized none of them were paying attention to the murder that was about to take place.

“Funny how you cowardly criminals never seem to have anything to say to my face.” Crane fixed his gaze back on his tray. Something told him not to speak, not to look at him, not to move, and, absurdly, he was briefly reminded of the rabbits in that horrible movie he and Jervis had watched. Was that all Jonathan Crane was now? A frightened rabbit?

“Oh, but maybe you’d respond **better** to your _new name_ , huh?” Bolton bent down so his face was right beside Jonathan’s. “What do you think, _Alice?_ ”

Crane winced, despite his efforts not to. Not from the way Bolton drew out the insulting nickname right into his ear, but from the hand tightening painfully on his bony shoulder. The sensation of another hand upon him was enough to startle Crane all the more. However, looking over at his side, seeing Tetch’s fingers wrapped around Lock-Up’s beefy wrist was enough to give both men pause.

“ **_Unhand him_ ** _, you insidious cur_ ,” Jervis growled, the glint of unbridled rage darkening his features. “Jonathan has **nothing** to say to you.”

“…Are you serious?” Bolton’s surprise was quickly turning into amusement. “I’ve read you file back when I was running this place, despite the fact _you were_ **_missing_ ** _._ ” This was said with a hiss, as he uncurled his hand off of Crane’s shoulder to put his focus onto the Hatter. “I knew you were _delusional_ , **Tetch** , but thinking you can threaten **me** makes you the biggest **fruitcake** in this joint.”

Under most any other circumstances, seeing that look in Jervis’ eyes would have delighted Crane. But now, all things considered, it filled him only with more dread. Jervis had no idea what kind of man Bolton was, and even if he had known, Jervis was the type to be easily blinded by rage and get himself killed for it.

“ _Jervis._ **Sit** _._ **_Down_ ** . He is **_trying_ ** to get into your head.” Jonathan hissed through clenched teeth. This caused Lyle to chuckle darkly, and Jonathan hated the way it sent a shudder of fear right through him.

“Aw, he’s looking out for you, isn’t that _sweet_ . Speaking of _fruitcakes_ , you know what **_I_ ** heard? I heard you two are _official_ now. Congratulations! I guess _Crane here_ decided he **likes** being someone’s little _sex puppet_.”

**CRACK!**

The room went silent, as the sound of Jervis’ tray slamming into the side of Bolton’s head echoed throughout the lunchroom. The clatter of dishes and silverware hitting the floor was barely recognized, as the Mad Hatter heaved through gritted teeth. Lyle Bolton had been stunned enough by the force of the act-- the behemoth stumbling back a few steps away from the couple.

Whatever pride Tetch may have felt over having been able to get the upper hand of the bulking figure quickly vanished, as Bolton stood back up to his full towering height.

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t **done** that.”

Regret came sooner than expected. Grabbing Jervis by the front of his shirt, Bolton lifted the Englishman high into the air. Feet momentarily dangling, Hatter looked down at the face of a man who knew what he wanted out of life– and right then Lock-Up wanted to slam the criminal into the table and start pounding.

Pain burst through Jervis’ senses as his back met the hard surface, momentarily winding him before fists met his face. Punch after punch came with heavy procession.  Enough to make his head swim in a pain induced haze. It was by sheer instinct that Jervis’ body reacted at all, as he kicked with all his might into Bolton’s stomach.

That was the second time Hatter had caught Lock-Up off guard, causing the man to stumble away from him. That was all the incentive Jervis needed before leaping again– his fury causing him to throw as many punches as he could.

The fact he made contact at all was a short lived victory. Bolton was back in the game, catching a flying fist as if it was child’s play. The ex-security guard instantly bent it away from him in a way that caused the smaller man to cry out in agony and crumble to his knees.

Bolton sneered, twisting his wrist as another screech of pain erupted from Tetch.

“I’ll give you this, ye’ little rat– _you at least fight_ **_back_ **.”

It was the sound of Jervis screaming that finally broke Jonathan out of his stunned stupor. It was outright _stupid_ to attack a man the size of Bolton, but Crane gripped the sides of his tray as he decided he’ would rather risk death than sit there and watch Jervis die defending him.

Luckily, for everyone’s sake, orderlies began to swarm the muscle-bound brute then. It took a total of four of them to finally wrestle him into a position that allowed him to be cuffed. Jonathan abandoned his tray to join Jervis on the floor, setting a hand on the man’s back but not knowing what else he could do. He wanted to say so many things, but most of these things involved scolding Jervis for his stupidity, and so he said nothing instead.

 **“He** attacked **_me!_ ** ” Bolton yelled as the orderlies began to lead him out. “ **These incarcerated nutjobs are all out of control!** They’re **never** going to **learn** if you **keep coddling them!** **_THEY’LL NEVER LEARN!_ **” His ranting slowly began to fade as he was taken further and further away from the cafeteria.

Two more orderlies were sent in to retrieve Jervis and take him to the infirmary. Jonathan stood and stepped aside when they arrived and tried to get the wounded man to his feet.

“Can you stand, Mr. Tetch? We need to get you to the infirmary.”

Jervis attempted to use his hands to push himself up from the floor– a hiss escaping him as he instant began to cradle his injured arm.

“ **Forgive me** , gentlemen, but I believe I’m going to need _assistance_ …”

Despite the fact the Englishman had been the clear attacker in the exchange, Crane watched silently as the orderlies gently helped Tetch to his feet. Even as he was escorted away, Jervis continued to talk– defending his partner.

“ _Jonathan had_ **_nothing_ ** _to do with what happened here_ ,” he hurriedly said, swaying slightly as he did so. “That, that **brute** threatened him!”

Crane would have probably found the act more endearing if he hadn’t been filled with equal parts humiliation and dread. The professor didn’t have much time to dwell on his feelings for long, as it was the approach of a guard that distracted him from worrying about Jervis’ well being.

“Crane, Dr. Bartholomew wants to see you to get your account on what happened.”

It was Kenneth Rogers, because _of course it was_. While the man was clearly not happy to interact with him, Jonathan at least gave the guard credit for his sense of professionalism. Cuffing Crane, Rogers placed a hand on his shoulder as both left the rowdiness of the lunchroom.

* * *

 

Jonathan sat silently fuming in Bartholomew’s office. The man wasn’t there yet, so he had settled for staring down the portrait that hung on the wall behind his desk, instead. His anger was no longer derived from Jervis’ foolish actions, no, it was Lyle Bolton that plagued his thoughts now. Throughout his entire life, Jonathan Crane had taken those who’ had made him suffer, and turned the suffering back onto them tenfold. So what made Lyle any different? Why had Crane allowed the man’s cruelty to continue on for so long?

_Because even the Scarecrow feared him._

But **why?** There was simply no reason for it. And now, after watching him treat Jervis the way he had, well. Mr. Bolton would just have to _go missing_ one day, wouldn’t he? Crane wondered just what he might be afraid of. Would he scream? Undoubtedly. Would he _cry?_ Oh, he hoped so. Beg for mercy? Perhaps. Beg all you want, there is no mercy in this world for people like Lyle Bolton.

His dark musings were put on hold as he heard the office door open. Bartholomew entered and sat behind his desk, nodding at him.

“Professor Crane.”

“Doctor.” He sat calmly and he waited for the questions he already knew were coming. He would answer them honestly, and hope for the best. This little meeting would be the difference between being separated and put back into his own cell, all privileges lost… and making sure Bolton was never allowed out of his cell again. It all depended on which side the staff decided to take, honestly.

Dr. Bartholomew sat still for a moment, watching the patient as he contemplated where to start.

“I’m sorry to have you waiting as long as you did– as you can imagine, these sort of scuffles usually lead to a lot of clean up.” The doctor removed his glasses, cleaning them off with his coat before placing them back on. “I was also reviewing the video from the incident, and from that alone I would be **_concerned_ ** with Tetch’s sudden outburst.”

Bartholomew sighed, the proverbial ‘but’ hanging in the air.

“ _However_ , while Bolton isn’t under my care–” Because of being one of the people the ex-guard blamed for Gotham’s crimes, Crane concluded with ease, “I’m **_more than aware_ ** of his history of harassment in regards to you. So, _with that in mind_ , I would like to hear **your** account of what took place.”

“There isn’t much to tell.” Crane shrugged. “Mr. Bolton _ridiculed_ and _threatened_ the **both** of us. Jervis **asked** him to _leave_ , and the ridicule only _intensified.”_ Crane sighed and shook his head.

“And then Jervis, _rather foolishly_ , jumped to my defense. The question you **should** be asking, _doctor,_ is **_who_** was in charge of letting that _oaf_ out of his cage to _begin_ with? And **where** were the _orderlies_ while we were being _harassed?_ This could have been ** _avoided.”_**

**_SHUT UP! Losing your temper will only be a detriment to our case. We NEED these so-called privileges if we ever want to get out of here._ **

“… Forgive me. Doctor. I am, perhaps understandably, **_upset_ **.” Swallowing his pride and apologizing to a man he truly believed didn’t deserve said apology had left a bad taste in his mouth.

Dr. Bartholomew allowed himself to feel impressed by the professor’s attitude. Restrained anger? Looking down on inappropriate behavior? And even **worried** about another? While he had, of course, read over Leland’s files… it was another matter to see said changes in a patient he had personally had under his care.

“And you have _every right_ to be upset,” Bartholomew said aloud, his tone laced with his own regrets. “Arkham may be the home to the criminally insane, but at the end of the day this is **still** a hospital. And as such, it is my duty to at least keep you safe while under our care.”

The doctor took a deep breath.

“I must admit to taking some blame in what transpired, Professor Crane. Dr. Kellerman had reported a change in demeanor in Bolton– his own hopes being that he might be ready to flex his ability to be around others, as it were. I had signed off on allowing it, _clearly_ not taking into account Bolton’s behavior change being a part of a ploy to obtain your whereabouts. And for that, _I must apologize._ ”

Ah, yes, Stephen Kellerman. He had been one of the doctors Bartholomew had originally passed Crane’s care onto once his own frustrations were evident. That would explain for the irresponsibility that transpired, in any case. Kellerman was not a fan of Scarecrow’s methods– he had voiced that on many occasions, to the point one might take this as a vendetta. Whether releasing Bolton into the wild was from sheer stupidity– _always a possibility_ – or it stemmed from a deeper place of malice at seeing Crane personally suffer… Well, only time would tell on that front.

But the fact he was being _apologized to_ gave him hope that things might actually be swinging in his favor. _Their_ favor.

“It’s alright.” Crane finally replied. “The important thing is we learn from our mistakes, _isn’t that right, doctor?_ … Can I assume this means Mr. Tetch **won’t** be reprimanded for _someone else’s mistakes?”_

Jervis would be dealing with enough discomfort as it was. Their escape plans would need to be pushed back while he healed. But things could be worse. Things could **_always_ ** be worse.

“He **did** still attack another inmate,” Bartholomew reminded Crane, “however… I do agree that the incident is very circumstantial. I believe we could let him off with a **warning** this time.”

At this the doctor paused, taking the opportunity while he could to voice a concern.

“As his… _friend_ , I would recommend you try to convince Tetch to handle his temper more accordingly. As loathsome as it is to hear, there will always be people in the world who will try to antagonize others– it’ll do him more good to realize it **sooner** than **later** . One day Tetch may start a fight he won’t be able to walk away from.. _._ ”

Bartholomew smiled, hoping his words could be the encouragement needed to help keep them _both_ out of trouble.

“Merely food for thought, Professor. Now, if there isn’t anything else you’d wish to add…”

Jonathan could have added how he had **_tried_ ** to stop Jervis, only to be ignored, but that would, undoubtedly, only make things worse. Jervis was a… _passionate_ man. There was no dousing the inferno once it had been ignited.

“No, doctor. Nothing more.” He muttered.

“Alright then, in that case, I’ll go ahead and have the orderlies escort you back to your cell. Thank you for your cooperation during all of this, Professor Crane.”

“Hm.” Was Crane’s only response to that, as he stood from the chair and was led back down the hall.

* * *

 

Crane waited for what felt like centuries, but realistically, was likely only an hour at best. He lay on his cot, legs bent, one slung comfortably over the other, while he read. This calm and relaxed demeanor belied his true inner worries. How bad could his injuries truly be? What was taking them so long? When at last he heard footsteps approaching down the hall, he shoved down the rising excited anxiety. He managed to keep his calm even as he heard the door to their cell open.

“Ah, my hero.” He said, without looking up from his book, as soon as the horrid sound of the door had ceased. “And hast thou slain the J– **_oh_ **.” Yes, now was not the time for teasing or quoting, and certainly not the time for cold indifference. Jervis looked a mess. An arm in a sling, his head bandaged, and an eye that would no doubt be quite colorful come morning.

The way Jervis’ eyes lit up upon seeing his partner, however, would make one wonder the man’s state of mind. Smiling softly, despite his obvious signs of pain, the Englishman was helped the remaining ways inside by the guard.

“Thank you for the assistance, Mr. Bennett, but I **do** believe we can take it from here,” Jervis politely said, his voice hoarse. It was after the guard removed his hand from his shoulder to leave, that Tetch put his attention back on Jonathan. “Hello, love. _Are you alright?_ ”

The fact Jervis’ question was genuine, as if **Crane** had been the one who just got the stuffing beaten out of him, was almost **laughable** . But Crane decided not to voice this. He also decided not to point out how this little mishap was exactly the type of bad decisions born of _love_ that Crane had been fretting over to begin with. The kind of inconvenient and dangerous situations he had warned the man about.

“After witnessing Mr. Bolton get walloped across the face with a dinner tray? Never better, thank you.” Was his reply, instead. Crane set the book aside and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, patting the mattress beside him.

“But **_you,_ ** on the other hand, _are looking a little worse for wear_ . **Please** sit down.”

Jervis did as instructed, wincing as he did so. Once on the cot, he found himself slumping– face resting against the man’s shoulder.

“I’ll admit, I’ve had better days. Still,” the Hatter chuckled, “I also enjoyed showing that Jabberwock a thing or too. Though, I’m more surprised I haven’t been punished for my… _transgression._ ”

At this Jervis’ amusement ceased.

“ **I apologize** , Jonathan. I nearly ruined _everything_ for us. It’s just… I wasn’t used to seeing you _that way._ ” Afraid. Broken into a fretful mess, not at all the fiery spirit Hatter was used to his Hare being. Jervis knew well enough not to voice that thought, despite it being the truth on the matter. “And of course, the things that cad dared to say! **Utterly horrid!** ”

At least Jervis **realized** how _stupid_ he’d been. Reiterating the subject would be pointless, no matter _how much_ Crane wanted to scold him. He placed an awkward hand on Jervis’ back. Comforting people was always going to be uncomfortable for him, and he knew it.

“Hmm. Doctor Bartholomew and I had a _chat._ You needn’t worry about being _punished_ ; you’ve been put on trial and found not guilty.” A pause. “Well, **_less_ ** _guilty_ , in any case. I imagine you’ve _heard_ that Bolton used to be a _guard_ here. Suffice to say, his methods were **inhumane** enough to leave even the _Scarecrow_ **_quaking_ ** _in_ **_terror_ ** _._ ”

Admitting being frightened over something as mundane as a mortal man was humiliating, but Jervis had bore witness to him under the effects of his own fear toxin. Did Crane truly have any shred of dignity left when it came to him?

Jervis was silent for a moment, as he contemplated asking the obvious follow up question. Crane expected it, he braced himself for another blow to his ego at sharing yet another of his weaknesses. If the likes of Bruce Wayne knew his own fear of Lyle Bolton, why should he worry about sharing it with the man he was in a relationship with? That was a thing couples **did** , wasn’t it?

What Jonathan didn’t expect, however, was the look of heartbreak that crossed Jervis’ beaten visage. His voice was barely that of a whisper, as if he was worried that his volume alone would cause more harm.

“ _What did he_ **_do_ ** _to you?_ ”

Crane had to look away from those sorrowful eyes if he were to continue. He fixed his gaze onto the floor and took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh before he began.

“Lyle believed that criminals were nothing but _scum._ He believes the criminally insane deserve to be _beaten to near death_ rather than _treated_ . He was **obsessed** with preventing our escape, he’d chain us down at night, and r _un an electrical current_ through our **doors.** He denied us even the most basic of privileges, he’d see to it our meals wouldn’t even be delivered to us for days if we’d shown even the slightest hint of defiance.”

Crane realized he was softly rubbing Jervis’ back, and he remembered he’d caught himself doing so before. It was as if Jervis was an unlikely comfort animal of some kind, and petting him helped ease his nerves.

“He used both _physical_ and _mental_ abuse to keep us in line. _Chief of Security he might have been_ , but that **shouldn’t** have given him access to the patient files. Still, he evidently managed to get his hands on them. I spent more than a few nights chained up in my cell, _in the dark_ , listening to an endless audio tape of screeching crows.”

He was lost to the memories by now, not even taking into account the fact Jervis might not understand the significance of the crows.

“And I don’t even believe I had it the worst. He once made us all **watch** while he strangled Arnold Wesker. _Strangled him!_ Bolton told him he would gladly stop if Scarface only asked him to. Knowing _full well_ he _couldn’t_ while Wesker was being **_choked_ ** .” A slight, amused smirk played across Crane’s face now. “Except he **_could_ ** and he **_did_ **. Bolton didn’t count on Wesker being so talented at what he does.”

His amusement dropped here, and he sighed again.

“When Bolton next visited Wesker, he brought along a can of termites, from what I hear. … _And Heaven only knows what he did to poor Harleen_.”

He paused momentarily to shake his head sadly, his peripherals just catching the way Jervis bit his knuckle in distress. He quickly added:

“I escaped, you know. I managed to flee from this place, away from that _monster._ But Batman caught me. He brought me back to this Hell. Bolton’s ego was _bruised_ by the fact I managed to escape while under his watch. He dragged me back to my cell, shoved me up against my door. **_My electrified door._ ** “ Jervis gasped, but still Crane pressed on. “He held me there until I passed out, he told me he would _up the voltage_ the next time if I told anyone.”

The way Lyle Bolton used fear to manipulate them all, without even the use of any kind of drug, was _almost_ **_admirable_ **.

By the time Jonathan had finished retelling the events, Jervis was left feeling speechless. What did one _say_ after hearing such atrocities? How do you console _anyone_ after having old wounds made known and bare? The Englishman felt sickened, as he came to understand just what sort of monster Lyle Bolton was. A man who abused his position and power to harm those that were already vulnerable– and he had done it all under the doctors’ noses!

Anger began to brew once more, twisting Tetch’s soft features with pure contempt.

“ **We have to kill him.** ” He locked eyes with his partner, the bandages not in the slightest taking away the power behind his conviction. “Maybe not today, or even during our current stay– but that **beast** _mustn’t_ be allowed to harm anyone else **ever again**. Look at what he’s **DONE** to you! What he’s _still_ doing to you…”

Jervis let out a shaky sigh, his fury slightly doused as he realized his anger would not help them now.

“ _I’m sorry_ , Jonathan. This is the second time I’ve let my temper get the better of me. You of all people are aware of the barbarity this man is capable of. I just… I want to see him **suffer** for every act he’s inflicted on you. On Harley, too, **by God** , _that poor child…_ ”

Jervis found his usable hand reaching out to cup the side of his partner’s face– Jonathan’s slight flinching at the act only pained him more.

“ _Oh Hare_ ,” Jervis whispered, his thumb lightly stroking Jonathan’s cheek, “surely there is _something_ we can do?”

Discovering Jervis was _on the same page,_ as it were, caused a devious smile to slowly spread across Jonathan’s face, despite the awkward feeling of a thumb stroking his cheek.

“I’d be _lying_ if I said that same notion hadn’t crossed my mind.” Jonathan gently grabbed the hand on his face and pulled it away, compromising by holding it in both of his, instead. This was still odd, and he felt ridiculous, but at least it wasn’t _touching his face._

“ _Oh but_ **_please_ ** _,_ Jervis, promise me he won’t die **_too_ ** quickly.” he pleaded, joking in his intensity but not in his intent, holding Jervis’ gaze. “We are two, _creative individuals,_ and there are _countless things more horrible than death._ ”

Jervis felt the familiar flutters inside his chest at having his hand held, Jonathan’s impish grin only making him swoon all the more. The playful lilt only adding to his captivation.

“We can, **_we shall,_ ** ” Hatter encouraged eagerly. Oh, there was something _terribly romantic_ about the idea of it! Just the two of them, holed up in their cell together, whispering out plans of the man’s destruction into the night. “You shall whet your appetite on his crocodile tears, _his_ **_screams_ ** _will be the music to your_ **_macabre manipulations_ ** _._ ”

If he was at all aware of the hum of pleasure he emitted, Jervis gave no indication of it. The Englishman was too busy losing himself to the fantasy of just how much he would **enjoy** seeing Scarecrow take his revenge.

Crane chuckled in his dark delight. There was something electrifying about sharing such an intimate moment with someone who appreciated the satisfaction of revenge as much as he. Someone who understood and supported his desire to terrify.

“Oh, now **that** sounds _utterly delightful_ . _My dear little deviant, you have such a beautiful mind.”_

“ _Excuse meeee_. Hello?”

Crane’s grin slowly began to dissipate along with his lovesick high, his eyes darting to the wall. That was Ragdoll, and it sounded as if he was pressed up against the other side of the wall right beside them. He had likely heard that entire conversation.

“I _hate_ to interrupt, _but can I just_ **_say_ ** ? You two go some **_really freaky places_ ** with your dirty talk.” A pause, and then he added in a tone that made Crane’s skin crawl,

_“I think I like it.”_

Crane was frowning deeply now. His eyes trailed back over to Jervis.

 _“....We might need to start a_ **_list._ ** _”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys... hey... You should be following Mica for her art. DO IT: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	20. Smiles And Soap And Pudding Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane and Nygma have a little chat, while the Mad Hatter finds unorthodox inspiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Suicide Mention (though it's only talked about in passing through talking about literature)

Crane shivered. It was getting colder. He stood leaning against the courtyard wall, arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to keep warm. He kept his eyes on the quickly graying sky. He’d been given the option to forgo his courtyard privileges now that Jervis wasn’t able to join him (Crane figured the reasoning behind this was the belief his presence would help Jervis’ mood while he recovered), and this became more and more tempting the colder it grew. But he couldn’t stop now, he still had quite a few things they required for their escape. Nevar was a small bird, he was only able to bring very small things, one at a time.

It had been a few days past a week since Jervis’ little mishap, and in that time, both Nevar and Harley had been quite busy. The silly little crow had made a rather useful carrier pigeon, and Harley was exceptional at finding the things his notes requested and affixing them to the bird. It was a functional plan. It was working. The collection of chemical vials and various other things that had been hidden away in a hollowed out book, and later inside the sink’s exposed drainage pipe, was growing.

Crane flinched when the sound of rapidly flapping wings brought him out of his thoughts. Nevar landed on his shoulder, and Crane was quick to gently grab the bird. Nevar remained completely calm as Crane flipped him over to remove the small vial wrapped in paper from around his foot. He released the bird and immediately stuffed the vile down the front of his shirt. There was enough straw in there to keep it safe and hidden until he went back inside.

The paper it had been wrapped in, however, he kept a hold of. He glanced over to the guard post to see the two of them were busy huddled around a phone of some kind, no doubt watching a football game, or something equally as benign. He also caught sight of Nygma entering the courtyard. Fantastic. Crane ignored him in lieu of the note. He opened it and began to read, Nevar sitting on his head and peering down at it, as if he, too, were reading the note.

> _— Pssst. Pssst._ _Hey Professah… Got that_ ** _thing_** _ya’wanted._
> 
> Okay  **UGH** , I know I can’t say anything just in case,  _ y’know _ . But man, clean your desk sometime, wouldja? How’s a girl t’be doin’ errands when you’ve got me diving through your things! BY THE WAY, you should’ve mentioned the vile you wanted was  **LIGHT GREEN!!!**  D:< You got like a lot of green, you’re up to **HERE** in green goos!
> 
> Miss ya, y’big dummy :c Come home soon!!!
> 
> XOXO —-

There was a slight smirk on Crane’s face as he folded the note up and stuffed that down his shirt, too. He didn’t know  **_why_ ** Harley insisted on writing a letter back with every delivery, but a part of him had begun to look forward to them.

“ **WELL** , what did the _ silly bird _ bring you  **this** time?” 

Edward Nygma, once entering the yard, had spotted Crane straight away. Of course he had, with the fact there were few people idiotic enough to brace the growing chill, the man was easy to spot. And of course, outside of the likes of the Penguin, there weren’t many who chose to make  _ friends  _ with the wild life.

The fact Riddler seemed to have startled both Crane and crow with his sudden approach, was enough to amuse him.

“And still receiving notes too?” Nygma went on, oblivious to the fact he was no doubt pushing buttons, “ **My,** what an  _ exceptional _ teacher’s pet our girl Harl is. Was she  _ just as  _ **_dedicated_ ** when she was your student?”

The question had, rather unexpectedly, triggered feelings of fond nostalgia in Crane, rather than offense or annoyance.

“Young Harleen was an **_impeccable_ ** student, one of the most  **brilliant** of minds to ever–” The fond feelings crumbled here as he remembered just who he was speaking to. Crane threw him a glare and a frown. This self-absorbed cacafuego didn’t actually  **_care_ ** , he was likely only attempting to get under Crane’s skin, _ it’s what he thrived on _ . Crane decided to take this a slightly different direction.

“This  _ silly bird _ might be  **your** ticket out of this Hell as well.  _ You may wish to  _ **_speak kinder_ ** _ of him in the future.” _

Crane wasn’t a moron; he knew Nygma had been keeping close to them lately in hopes of escaping with them. He also knew, despite preferring to leave the insufferable man behind, Jervis was unlikely to support the notion. 

“What  **are** you doing out here, anyway?” He added, giving Riddler the once-over. Him being out here likely meant he’d  _ chosen  _ courtyard time over warmer indoor activities.

“Clearly I was looking for  _ you _ ,” Riddler answered back, annoyed that a man with even a _ little brains _ couldn’t have figured out  **that** much. Maybe his moniker of ‘Scarecrow’ was more fitting than originally thought. “With your  _ better half _ out of commission for the time being, I had  **assumed** you may require my assistance in whatever  _ cockamamie scheme _ the two of you have cooked up.”

At this Nygma paused brows furrowed as it dawned on him, after all this time, they actually hadn’t said a thing about it. Or even hinted, outside of their pet being involved. WELL, maybe  **now** that he was offering his services, Crane would see fit to laying out some clues. (He’d never have to admit his  **folly** , and the world would keep on turning.  _ Hurray, hurrah. _ )

Jonathan didn’t even try to hide the fact he was rolling his eyes. “I highly doubt  _ your particular skill set  _ will be of any  **_use_ ** to us, Nygma.” He paused, then glanced over at him with intrigue.

“Unless you think you can get the  **gates** open when it comes time.” If nothing else, Riddler was handy with technology… and even though Jervis also possessed this skill, Jervis would be otherwise occupied. If he could perhaps tap into them  **_remotely_ ** to avoid having to detour to the control room… “Jervis wasn’t a  _ fan _ of crashing through them the last time, and I don’t think I’m going to convince  _ either _ of you to leave through the _ sewers.” _

Arkham had quite the handy little underground exit that led into the sewers, and while Crane had used it to his advantage on more than one occasion… the company he kept as of late weren’t the type to willingly go sloshing through the filth.

“I would at least **consider** _slumming it up_ ,” Nygma clarified, more so to defend himself from the prissy implications the other man was giving. “However… your _fop of a boyfriend_ once panicked over not knowing what gunk accosted his hand when he wasn’t paying attention to where he was sitting; Tetch would probably **perish** from the mere **suggestion** of swimming in filth.”

As humorous as the idea was, it wasn’t solving anything. He  _ supposed  _ they would have to simply work around that  **inconvenience** . Crane wouldn’t leave without Tetch, and  **Tetch** was the whole reason the contemptuous curmudgeon was putting up with him to begin with. 

Nygma sighed.

“However, the gate should be _easy enough_ to work around. I happen to know maintenance keeps tools lain about for emergencies– like when card keys decide to cease functioning, _you know how it is._ **WELL** , procure me access to the utilities, and barriers in our path will be a worry of the past.”

It was in that moment that a piece of Crane’s plan fell into place.

“OH, that  **IS** your plan, isn’t it? You’re concocting your fear juice to create chaos and then slip away unnoticed. Quaint, but sometimes it’s the  _ simple things _ that work.”

_ “Fear juice? _ ” Crane grimaced. He hated that sound of that, _ but he was technically correct _ . It had to be  **liquid** before it could become  _ gas. Uhg. _

“Yes that’s the plan.” He snapped. “Admittedly it’s…  _ a work in progress  _ still, there will be more  **to** it than  **_that_ ** …” Crane realized he was trying to convince himself of this just as much as he was trying to convince Nygma. He was hoping they’d be able to make use of a few of Jervis’ cards, but he was certainly in no shape to make any… there were likely a few left over in the holding area, along with the rest of their things they had on them when they’d been caught, which they would need to retrieve anyway, but…

Getting to that room was a piece of the puzzle Crane had been agonizing over. No matter. They had time. Tetch wasn’t going anywhere in his current condition.

“In any case, your assistance on the matter would be…  _ appreciated. _ ” Oh. It felt like something putrid on his tongue. “Gaining access to the utilities shouldn’t be a problem…” Yes, it definitely seemed like a problem at the moment. But Crane was confident everything would fall into place in due time.

“Splendid.” Nygma said with finality, pleased to see that the other criminal was finally seeing reason. It was with a smug sense of satisfaction that he puffed up his chest, eyeing Crane’s feathered friend. “Now, you may want to tell our  _ honored herald _ to pack his bags– least the guards grow a brain cell amongst themselves and get suspicious.”

Nevar squawked in agitation, flapping his wings in annoyance almost as if he could tell that Riddler was suggesting he leave. Crane pet the crow soothingly, more than amused as Nygma flinched away– fearing that the bird may actually see fit to attack him.

“Watch it, birdie!” The man snarled, “Before I decide to show the  **true meaning** of ‘ _ One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest _ ’!”

“Using literature to threaten now?” Crane replied calmly, stroking Nevar in a way that seemed almost menacing. “Tell me,  _ who do you see yourself as? _ Young Billy who slits his throat from shame over disappointing his mother?  **No** ,  _ of course not _ . You don’t know  **shame** , do you?”

Nygma glared.

“ **_Crane…_ ** ” He growled, his warning ignored as the professor went on.

“Not Nurse Ratched, not the Chief… Ah,  _ of course _ : **McMurphy** . I recall that rakish rogue: thought he was smart enough to play the system and everyone in it. Everyone around him was never as  **crafty** as _ he _ , always one step behind, he thought. How did the story end, again? …Oh yes,  _ with the clever man being  _ **_lobotomized._ ** ” 

Crane stopped his petting to lock eyes with his fellow inmate, who had grown very silent during the psychologist’s retelling of the story. 

“Interesting you should reference that tale, isn’t it Nygma? A man who values his  **mind** over all else… losing the very ability for cognizant thought. One can’t help but  **wonder** if you’ll ever share the same fate…”

Edward felt a chill run down his spine– which the man unfortunately couldn’t blame on the weather. His eyes wide, as brief flashes of the time he was locked inside his mind after the incident with his virtual reality headset hit him hard. It had taken months to treat him– his genius mind infantilized as he had to relearn all the basics of functioning on his own. It had been  **HUMILIATING!** A big blow to his massive ego! 

But worse… it had been  _ absolutely terrifying _ not knowing if he would ever be able to return to his former glory.

Nygma took a deep breath, hands grabbing at his side as he tried his best not to show his true feelings on his memories to the Master of Fear.

“ **I won’t.** ” This was said through gritted teeth, even as he continued. “My  **superior intellect** has shown from experience that it’s unable to crumble to anything or **anyone** .”

“ _ We’ll see… _ ”

Riddler didn’t get another chance to respond, as it was the sound of the guards whistling and calling for all inmates to return in doors that had saved them from their conversing. For the better, the younger man couldn’t help but conclude, as he used the opportunity to leave the conversation. Nygma didn’t say another word as he slipped away, allowing the living bag of twigs to finish fondling his pet in peace. 

He’d have to remember not to insult the crow again,  _ least the Scarecrow someday go behind his boyfriend’s back and make threats a reality… _

* * *

 

There was a saying:  _ ‘that absence made the heart grow fonder’ _ . Jervis Tetch supposed there was truth to the matter. He had certainly felt it all those months prior– the time he was captured after the Red Knight having slain his dream machine. The Mad Hatter had been at his mimsiest, not only feeling utterly foolish for daring to concoct such an inane scheme to begin with, but also missing his Hare terribly.

In hindsight, he wondered if his feelings for Jonathan had begun to implant themselves earlier than he had realized…

All that said, even if the situation wasn’t anywhere near as dismal, Jervis couldn’t quite keep himself from wishing that Jonathan was with him in the recreation room. While there was nothing wrong with the present company– Arnold Wesker had remained silent next to him as the television ran some show or another. Even the ventriloquist dummy in his lap wasn’t exactly the cause of his poor mood, despite his malcontent over the plot that appeared to be a part of the episode. No, his pouting– for that was truly what he was doing– all derived from the simple fact that he wished he could have been using his time with Jonathan instead. Sure, they spent nearly all other time with each other– luncheons, room and board, even their own psychiatric treatment was all centered around the two filling up their hours, minutes, seconds amongst the other. Jervis had no right to complain.

And yet… 

Jervis couldn’t help but sigh all the same. Was it so  _ wrong _ for a man to enjoy the company of his paramour? Were they not still in their honeymoon phase– exploring the newness of their feelings, where there were still many aspects left to explore… Why, it was already a shame that the two love birds were sampling their new bliss behind Arkham’s walls– made a spectacle for all the world to see, when love was really meant for the two individuals involved! Wasn’t the  _ poor old Hatter _ already suffering enough, that he couldn’t be  **blamed** if he wished for his Hare’s return all the more?

_ …Even if the reason for their separation was for the sole sake of their eventual escape. _

It was in that moment that Jervis couldn’t help but feel guilt wash over him. Really, he shouldn’t be  fretting over the inconvenience at all. While he didn’t regret his decision to lash out at Bolton– the cad had deserved it and  _ then some! _ – the Englishman had to admit that his inability to hold his temper was to blame. Now he was sitting inside, utterly useless, while poor Jonathan was bearing the elements and doing all the hard work. Jervis had wanted to be of more help,  _ really he did… _ But the fact of the matter was he couldn’t even use his arm to eat or during toiletries without excruciating levels of pain– that attempting to refurbish left trinkets from the rec room seemed near impossible. 

No… in the end it left Tetch on the sidelines, only able to give suggestions and support while Jonathan did all the work. The very notion of it left the man dreadfully anxious, feeling all the more like a burden.

Jervis had been busy musing all the while, only having enough awareness of his surroundings, that he was caught off guard when a tail bit of Scarface’s grumbled ramblings sieved through his mind. 

**“** **_Hypnotism_ ** _! _ ” The doll cried out, incredulously. “They’re doin’  **_hypnotism_ ** now? What  **is** this garbage? First they tried sellin’ us the whole,  _ wishes really  _ **_do_ ** _ come true if you  _ **_believe_ ** _ hard enough, _ and now  **_this_ ** bullcrud?” Scarface gestured at the television with a floppy hand.

“That’s it, where’s the remote…” The doll began looking all around for said remote, despite it being well known that the television in the recreation room didn’t actually have one.

Jervis sat erect in his seat, eyes glued to the television as he watched some villain– whom could have very well stepped out of a Conan Doyle narrative– was busy swinging his watch  _ back and forth _ to the detriment of the young woman victim. She fought, desperately doing her best to overcome the man’s persuasions. But each swing, sounding all the more like a metronome– the ticks and tocks loud and nearly deafening– as the fiend calmly charmed the maiden. Every second seemed to only spell the poor dear’s doom.

It was gimmicky, it was absurd…  _ Surely _ such a thing was merely a work of fiction? The very  **IDEA** that a calming tone and complete conviction alone could sway anyone to doing their bidding! 

Then again… the Englishmen had invented a form of mind control of his own, hadn’t he? And yes, he  **supposed** he knew of cases of light and outside stimuli being able to momentarily stun people into a trance like state… And Tetch  **had** heard of alternative forms of treatment like hypnotherapy… though he had  **assumed** that was all poppycock at the time.

The more Jervis thought about it, the more the very idea intrigued him. It was  **nonsensical** to consider, and  **really** he shouldn’t. Yet, with being locked away, and him not being able to do much physical labor on his end of the escape plans… Well, certainly it couldn’t  _ hurt  _ to at least look into the matter. Even in the end it was all  _ frivolous _ , he could at least amuse his partner with the fact he had considered it  **at all.**

Besides… wasn’t it Jonathan who once claimed that Jervis could  _ charm people with politeness alone _ ?

Silly, yes… But it was with a beam of his own that the Mad Hatter excused himself from the worn couch to seek out a guard about being escorted to Arkham’s library. There was research to be done, and only so much time left before he would be forced back to his cell…

* * *

 

Crane hated to admit it, but the cafeteria still set him on edge. He wasn’t  **_afraid,_ ** not in the  _ slightest, _ he was just  _ acutely aware  _ of every tray hitting the table a little too hard, of every sudden shout, the creak of the doors every time they opened. Bolton still hadn’t had his cafeteria privileges reinstated, and it was doubtful he ever would, but it never hurt to be a  _ little  _ cautious.

He also found himself glancing back every so often to check on Jervis, who was still waiting in line. In the hustle and bustle of hungry inmates, they’d managed to get separated, causing Crane to get to the table far sooner. But sitting alone wasn’t the problem; Crane simply felt nervous that Jervis would run into trouble with rowdy inmates in his current, injured state. Which was ridiculous, really, as there didn’t seem to be a single person in Arkham willing to get into a scuffle with the guy who had the gall to pounce on Lyle Bolton, and live to tell the tale, on top of that.

Jervis being so feared in a place like this was endlessly amusing to Crane. Yes, he had  _ a temper _ , yes, he could be  _ violent _ , but at his core, Jervis Tetch was a creampuff. Why, if anyone here **knew** how the man spent his downtime, he may lose every bit of respect he’d earned thus far. Especially lately, as he’d picked up a new, rather odd, interest. Returning from outdoor recreation to find Jervis surrounded by stacks of books from the Arkham library on magic tricks and the art of illusion, while engrossed in one open in his lap, was a memory that was still fresh in his mind. Crane had teased about how now was a poor time to pick up new hobbies, and Jervis had assured him it was for the betterment of their escape plans.

Crane had been, understandably, worried when he heard that. Did Jervis truly think he could  **magic** them out of prison? Abracadabra, alakazam, now you see them now you don’t? But Jervis had assured him that, no, it was nothing as  _ foolish  _ as all  _ that _ . He was doing his research on  **_hypnotism._ ** Oh, **_thank goodness_ ** _ it was nothing  _ **_silly._ **

No matter. Crane supposed Jervis had time to kill, why not let him have his fun? He seemed especially excited about it, and it kept him busy and preoccupied. No harm done.

It was during his musings on the matter, looking back as he watched Jervis wait patiently in line, that Crane was startled by the slamming of a tray across from him. It was with a whip of his head around that he noticed it was Nygma– the insistent tag along. Instead of being smug about the fact he had been able to successfully…  _ sneak up _ on him, the other inmate was instead looking at Jervis from across the room.

“ **Hmph** , doesn’t  **he** look  _ rather pleased with himself _ .” Riddler said, sounding almost annoyed by the Englishman’s mood. “Looking at  **him** , you’d almost think we were  _ school boys _ sent away to summer camp than felons in prison. Tetch still  **amusing himself** with his new  _ obsession _ ?” This line of inquiry was directed at Crane, as Nygma’s bright green eyes swept over towards the taller inmate. “ _ Really _ , I’m surprised you haven’t talked him down from that by  **now** .  Maybe convince your beau to focus on more  **productive pursuits** .”

Edward knew Tetch put the ‘mad’ in ‘Mad Hatter’ quite literally, but even  _ he  _ couldn’t believe the joke had gone on as long as it had.

Crane raised a brow at Nygma. How  **interesting** that the man seemed to not only  _ envy  _ Jervis’ found happiness, but wished to  _ destroy _ it so _ readily _ . A very, _ if I can’t have it, then no one deserves it, _ mentality. It suited Edward Nygma very well, Crane decided.

But he kept this little analysis to himself. It was more amusing that way. Instead, Crane went back to prodding his baked potato and sighed.

“And what would  **_you_ ** have him do in the state he’s in, pray tell? In case you haven’t noticed, _ the Mad Hatter is currently out of commission. _ ”

It had crossed his mind to suggest Jervis spend his time helping him think of a plan more complex than gas and run, but that would require looking him in the eye and telling him the thing he was so excited about was a waste of time. And had it been most anyone else, that wouldn’t have been a problem. Crushing hopes and dreams with the cruel facts of reality was, in most cases, one of Jonathan Crane’s favorite hobbies. But this would be akin to watching the joy fade from a puppy’s eyes as you set their favorite chew toy on fire, and he doubted even the Scarecrow would derive pleasure in that level of cruelty. 

Nygma, however, was having none of that. It was after stuffing a spoonful of mixed vegetables into his mouth, he complained through his chewing.

“I would think a man with his head constantly in the clouds could  **at least** be imaginative enough to concoct  **something** .” The villain instantly raised his hand, to stop the reply he could sense coming. “I said  _ ‘imaginative _ ’  **not** ‘ _ fictitious garbage _ ’. I’m surprised Doctor Leland hasn’t been concerned about his little  _ slip down the rabbit hole _ .”

At this Crane smiled, recalling the woman’s reaction to Jervis’ newfound interests. Of course his partner had been smart enough not to tell Leland his desire for mind control without the need of his technology, instead having let the doctor believe it was a genuine passion to learn sleight of hand and other parlor tricks. Crane had nearly laughed at Leland’s awkwardness as Jervis toyed with the poor woman, crumbling up a piece of paper into a ball and having ‘ _ attempted to make it disappear _ ’. Her startlement when in all actuality he let it fall to the floor and kicked it aside,  _ was priceless. _

If there was anything positive to say about the Mad Hatter, it would certainly be his dedication to his deception.

“She is cautious, but supportive,” the professor had settled on saying. “Leland doesn’t have the heart to discourage  _ healthy outlets _ .”

At this Nygma snorted.

“Debatable on  **that** front. Though I suppose it makes sense that she would encourage  **anything** that stems away from his Carroll–  _ even if she thinks she’s creating the next  _ **_Penn & Teller_ ** _. _ ”

“Hmhm.” He allowed himself to grant Nygma with a sound of mild amusement, despite not necessarily wanting to give him the satisfaction of it. 

“That woman really **_does_** seem to think she’ll make a _difference_ , doesn’t she? **Talk** us all out of being criminally insane, **_drug_** _us into being_ ** _better people_**. She just may be more _delusional_ than she assumes her **patients** to be.”

While doctor Leland was certainly a joke, Crane failed to feel any strong dislike for the woman. He had appreciated the way she’d handled his little vulnerable slip up, and had it not been for her, he may never have confronted Jervis at all.

“Still,” he added, distractedly, glancing over his shoulder at Jervis again without thinking about it. “her  _ optimistic enthusiasm _ makes her all the more  _ amusing _ to toy with.”

On the other side of the room, finally having been allowed to grab his own tray as he slid it across the counter, was the man in question: Jervis Tetch. It was true what Riddler had said, the Englishman had been a lot more jovial than warranted– especially considering where he was. Sure, his arm still in its sling was bothersome– certainly made retrieving lunch all the more difficult as he waited in turn for his food to be slopped onto his plate– but Jervis had always been his happiest when he felt productive. Researching through the hospital’s library had been surprisingly helpful– the few books on stage magic having led to other lines of investigation. Books on meditation, ways of carrying oneself with confidence– many of these to an outside observer would, no doubt, look like he was turning a new leaf.

A happy coincidence, he supposed, it certainly went well enough with his alibi of being interested in learning a new craft. Jervis had nearly found himself tittering when their  _ dear doctor _ had suggested chatting to Wesker about it– seeing as the man had a career in entertainment before his life turned for the worse. A humorous notion, but while it was one thing to fool those that worked for the asylum… The Ventriloquist would be an innocent bystander, and even **he** couldn’t bring himself to treat the man’s enthusiasm as a piece to a bigger farce. No, that would simply be too cruel.

In the end, however, Jervis truly had come by a fair share of knowledge. And with each passing day he had become more intrigued with the idea of testing out his theories– every man of science needed his tests, after all. And it would be best to work out whatever kinks that may come his way, before actually using in the field when it would be most needed. Jervis had just made his way down to the end of the long counter, where a lanky looking kitchen staff was just about to place a pudding cup onto his tray. It was a ridiculous impulse, pudding wasn’t even something he much cared for one way or another, but it was about the test more so than the rewards.

The Mad Hatter smiled his most charming smile, beginning with politeness.

“Hello, the afternoon treating you well, I hope?”

The fact the hospital employee was being talked to at all was enough to throw the man off, as he looked quizzically at the inmate.

“…It’salright.” The man replied with a slur, as he placed the treat onto Tetch’s tray. It was as an afterthought the man decided to add. “You doin’ well?”

Ah! Manners– a rarity if there ever was one.

“Oh, never better! Well, of course, it could always be  _ better _ ,” This Jervis expressed as he picked up the spoon on his tray, waving it about carelessly as he continued their chat. “But I’m quite happy with what I have. A roof over my head, three meals a day– and of course one can’t look down of the company. Tell me, my dear, are you new? I don’t recall seeing you before today.”

Jervis’ tone was calm, even, and he had noticed that the staff member had been silently watching the Hatter fiddle with his spoon– perhaps out of worry that he might see fit to use it against him? Still, the man’s attitude was calm enough.

“First week.” Was his blunt response.

“First week, I see. Do tell, has the place been treating you well?”

“Not bad,” the man responded, not seeming to mind where the conversation was going. “Nothing’s happened, anyway.”

“Probably for the best,” Jervis agreed, shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable– the man across from him doing the same. “You’re lucky to find yourself here during the hospital’s lull period. There are times it’s so rowdy here, Mister… Oh my,  _ pardon me _ … I never seemed to have caught your name.”

“Jake.” The man automatically responded.

“Jake,” Jervis repeated with a nod, before leaning a little more on the counter, the kitchen staff seeming to do the same in kind. “In any case, Jake, my boy. You’ve come into luck. All the same, probably for the best to keep your head down and not to go too noticed.”

At this the Hatter tilted his head to the side in contemplation, rhythmically tapping his spoon against the metal counter. Soft, but loud enough to be heard even amongst the sea of talking inmates.

“Have you been nervous thus far? I know when I was first admitted, I was  _ positively shook _ from end to end.”

Jake seemed calm enough as he answered honestly.

“Yeah. Hard not to be when you feel like you’re trapped in a room full  of crazies.  _ No offense. _ ”

“ _ None taken _ ,” the older man responded in kind. “Though I’ve learned to find some comfort in the madness of it all. But it took time, quite a bit of it. Would you like to know what I did that helped make this place more bearable?”

The spoon, still lightly tapping, clinked in a steady beat that sounded very much like the soothing sound of the seconds passing on a clock. Jervis was pleased to notice that his new friend seemed just as fascinated by the action of bouncing the utensil as he hoped he’d be.

“Whatcha do?” Jake asked, innocently enough– very much captivated by Jervis’ charms.

“I took time to breathe. To count away, letting myself forget where I am. You look like a man who would like to forget this mimsy and dreary place.”

“Yeah, yeah I would.”

“Would you like to give it a whirl with me?” Jervis asked politely, already taking in a slow breath as he sighed. “ _ Mmm,  _ yes. Just the thing to soothe a rattled mind.”

The inmate took in another breath, allowing his shoulders to relax even more. Jervis noticed the other man doing in kind.

“Don’t you feel it? The way the air fills your lungs with the tingle of anticipation? It’s quite captivating– the feeling of being whole, _ alive _ .”

Jervis breathed in again, Jake following along.

“ _ Exquisite _ , “ the Englishman sighed. “So….  _ hmm _ , relaxing. I feel as if I could nap away here.”

“Yeah… s’pretty nice.”

“Tell me… does your family approve you working here?” Inhale.

“A job’s a job.” Jake responded, exhaling in the same slow rhythm.

“They must be  _ very _ proud.” Inhale.

“I hope so.” Exhale. The staff worker seemed relax, his eyes drooping slightly in his state. Jervis decided to encourage him by doing the same, closing his eyes as he took in another deep breath.

“How do you feel now, Jake? Does the world seem as loud as before? Does it seem as  _ fretful _ ?”

“No.” Jake responded. Another breath.

“Good. A hard working young lad doesn’t deserve to worry. The youth should be allowed to think only about the more pleasurable things in life. Young love, the delicacies the world has to offer. The world is your platter of treats, and you  _ deserve _ to dine.’

The Mad Hatter opened his eyes, pleased to see that the staff member’s eyes were still closed.

“I happen to be very fond of desserts myself. Why, I could fill myself up on sweets alone. Do you like pudding, Jake?”

“Yeah. S’pretty good.” 

“I think so too. It makes me very happy when the hospital decides to treat us to it. Sweet, but light and airy. Solid, but not.” Jervis sighed, coming off more as a hum of bliss. “A wonderland of sensations, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah.”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Jervis repeated, just as airy. “Which is why I’d like to ask you a favor. Would you be willing to do that, Jake?”

Jake nodded lightly, most likely the young man not knowing he was doing it at all.

“Good,” Jervis exhaled loudly, just as evenly. “I would like you to give me another pudding. Would you be so kind to allow me it?”

“Yeah.” Jake agreed, Jervis happily grabbing another cup from the counter and putting it gently on his tray. 

“Thank you, Jake. You have done this old man a  _ great service _ . And thank you for the pleasant chat.”

It was with a giddy satisfaction that the inmate stood up straight, using his strength to balance his meal as he turned to walk away. It didn’t take long for him to spot his other tea party goers, as he slid happily into the seat next to Jonathan.

“ _ Well don’t you look pleased, _ ” Nygma piped up, raising a brow at the Englishman’s mood. It didn’t take long for his eye for details to notice the addition on Jervis’ tray. “Stealing desserts now, are we?”

“ _ Heavens no _ ,” Hatter replied, his smile seeming to grow all the more as he gingerly plucked up the extra treat and placed it onto the tray of his Dormouse. “I…  **encouraged** the man into handing it over. Simple as that.”

Crane was intrigued by the way Jervis gave up his prize so readily. He hadn’t actually wanted it at all, which meant…

“ **You** just wanted to see if you  **_could_ ** .” He concluded aloud, amusement evident in his tone. Had Jervis really been practicing hypnotism on random staff? Was that what was going on here? He seemed far too proud for it have been a simple case of asking nicely and being rewarded for it… even if, realistically, that was what had likely actually taken place.

“Much like the way you _ encouraged _ all of those  _ delightful people _ at the market,  _ hmm? _ ”

At least this way, he wasn’t  _ directly  _ stomping on the man’s hopes and dreams.

Jervis waved off Jonathan’s comment.

“ _ Pish posh _ ,  **hardly** the same thing. I never asked for special treatment then. Nor did they know I was a  _ criminal  _ at the time.”

The Englishman sat up straighter in his seat, his excitement over what he accomplished evident.

“Nono, it was the real deal– I assure you! The man was in a  **trance!** Followed my every cue, every movement to a  **T.** ”

Nygma scoffed.

“I’m with Crane on this one, Tetch. I feel like it’s more likely you just flirted your way into free dessert.” The man paused, a smile gracing his face as he finished taking a bite of the treat the man had given him. “ _ Mmm.  _ Actually, I may have to steal that move out of your playbook. Just imagine the special treatment  **_I_ ** could receive if I gave a guard the ol’  _ Riddler charm. _ ”

Crane merely rolled his eyes at this, while Jervis visibly pouted.

“ _ Oooh, _ you’re not  _ listening!  _ Is it  **really** so hard to believe that  _ perhaps  _ I did what I claimed?”

“When it doesn’t  **exist** , and you have history of  **delusions** ?  **_Yes._ ** ” Nygma stated with a shrug.

Crane threw Nygma an unkind look. That had been downright rude, and uncalled for, honestly. His expression softened as he glanced over at Jervis.

“The subject of hypnotism  **is** a little hard to believe. If  **anyone** could make it work, it would be  **_you_ ** , but having such a  _ persuasive personality _ can be  _ just _ as useful.”

He inwardly winced at just how patronizing his own words had sounded.Would this be easier if he stopped _ trying _ to be kind about it?

Jervis remained silent, mildly glaring into his meal as it was his turn to poke and prod. Sure, what Jonathan had implied was  _ flattering _ in its own way– the very idea that he was charismatic enough to win people over to his side. But there was a falsehood there. It wasn’t  **real** – not in the ways that truly mattered.

Jonathan didn’t know the Jervis Tetch of before– the pathetic creature that had existed, alone and begging to be  **noticed** . Jonathan had never had the  _ pleasure _ of seeing how he floundered about awkwardly–  _ smiles and soap and ships and sealing wax _  getting him the joys of people thinking they could walk all over him. It was only through the Mad Hatter’s cards did people begin to listen–  **to notice.**

While there was a sweetness that he couldn’t help but feel, his partner thinking so highly of him, but in the end it was _ wrong _ . It hadn’t been  **him** that put the kitchen worker under a spell, not the him in the sense of ‘natural charm’. No, there was a  **difference** . Jervis could  **FEEL** it, and here his two tea party members wouldn’t listen. WELL, then he would have to be truly  _ persuasive _ , wouldn’t he? Talk his dear Hare into letting him see all the research he had garnered– to see he had truly been doing his best to help along. That  **HE** was not going to slow them all down!

Jervis had promised Jonathan he would show the man that he was a worthwhile partner, after all.

It was with that conviction that the Englishman allowed himself to finally eat his meal. Edward used the time to fill in the silence, telling another one of his stories as he shifted the focus onto himself. Jervis listened, only filling in lines he knew were needed to egg Dormouse on– to show he still had a captivated audience, even if the show was all for himself. 

_ But once lunch was over and he and Jonathan were back in their cell… The Mad Hatter would show his Hare  _ **_the truth_ ** _. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tap Tap Tap  
> Art by Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com  
> Tap Tap Tap


	21. Mesmerized Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jervis convinces Crane to allow him to put hypnotism to the test-- with interesting results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Lucky you!  
> No... actually the last chapter merely got too long. It felt like it was easier to read if you were allowed the break in-between.

The walk back to their shared cell was a quiet one, but all things considered, Crane definitely didn’t mind. His patronizing attitude had seemingly earned him the silent treatment during their meal, and now they would be sharing a very small space together for the rest of the evening and night. _Fantastic._ However, he was more than happy to be back in their cell, if only to escape the Riddler’s agonizingly endless self-monologue.

He sat on his cot and watched from the corner of his eye as the guards that had escorted them there left. As soon as they were out of sight, he fell back onto it, arms folded as he scowled up at the ceiling in an almost childlike manner.

“The only **_real_ ** riddle that blowhard has ever managed to concoct is how a man _so far up his own posterior_ even manages to **_function.”_ **

Nygma didn’t bother him nearly as much as he was letting on, but it was easier to focus on that rather than anything else.

Jervis watched from his own cot silently, contemplating on whether or not he should answer. The Englishman knew his role amongst the three– the mediator who tried to placate both sides, _least one decides to shove the other into a porcelain teapot_ . A part of Jervis felt inclined to engage in that role, more so for the distraction of it. It was there, tangible, and easier to grasp onto. It would be so _effortless_ to jump to Edward’s defense– despite the fact the Englishman was still mildly miffed by his curt treatment from him.

Jervis sighed, knowing what he must do.

“Jonathan… You are aware that I greatly admire your mind, yes? Every thought, everything that makes you the person you are– _your muchness_ , if you would.” Here he waved his working hand about, more so in nervousness than anything else. “I would **hope** you are aware that I would never wish for you to stifle yourself, **or** your opinions. I needn’t be coddled, you know.”

Here Jervis went for broke, as he locked eyes with his cellmate.

“You think I’ve been wasting my time, don’t you?”

Jonathan sighed loudly. He was thankful and relieved to learn Jervis would prefer knowing the truth rather than being spoon-fed fictitious garbage to spare his feelings.

“It’s kept you in _good spirits_ , hasn’t it? That alone is reason to be thankful for it. But do I think it has any chance at all of helping with our plans? _Not in the slightest_ . There just isn’t enough solid evidence of it ever actually **_working_ ** . Hypnosis is a thing of _fiction_. Nothing more.”

Oh. Now that felt better, so much better. Stomping on his interests felt so much less terrible when he directly asked for it, and one thousand times better than lying to his face.

Jervis nodded his head in understanding, seemingly more calm than Crane thought the man would be. A sign of his partner moving on past his flights of fancy, perhaps? Or more like the beginning of the Mad Hatter entering into his passions– where Crane would have to witness a grown man having a tantrum. The professor watched Jervis with caution, even as the Englishman went on with the conversation.

“I thought as much, Edward always **was** of the habit of vehemently voicing his opinions. I suppose I must at least **commend** you for diplomatically attempting to spare my feelings– despite obviously siding with him.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” Crane replied– while not sorry for his honesty, he at least had enough awareness to know it was a sentiment he was **supposed** to have.

“Nono, none of that.” The Englishman tutted. Standing up as he made his way to sit by his partner– Jonathan accommodating accordingly. “I’m not upset, love. As I said, I **expected** as much. You’re a **scientist**.  And as such, I should have known you wouldn’t believe in such drivel merely because I was interested in it.”

Jonathan was becoming quite accustomed to knowing when a ‘but’ was lingering at the tail-end of a conversation. So it was with patience and a raised brow that the professor waited for Jervis to go on.

“That is why.” Tetch said on cue, ”I ask you allow me to try it on **you**. A simple test, and then we needn’t ever discuss this ever again.”

Almost instantly, both of the professor’s eyebrows shot up, and an amused smirk spread across his face for a moment before he was able to push it back down into a more neutral expression. He tilted his head, and placed a hand on Jervis’ shoulder.

_“Be my guest_ . My mind is yours to do with what you wish, I implore you; _make a_ **_believer_ ** _out of me.”_

This should, at the very least, prove to be entertaining. Being proven right never hurt, either.

Jervis grinned, happy that Jonathan at the very least would humor him. Still with his teasing, but Tetch had thicker skin that that to be baited. Besides, it made him all the more eager to prove the man _wrong_.

“That’s all I ask for, a chance.”

Jervis gave the hand on his shoulder one last squeeze before slipping to the floor. On his knees, one hand gripping the side of Jonathan’s legs as their eyes met– bright blue against a dark abyss. Perhaps a slight unorthodox, but Jervis planned on keeping his Hare’s attention on **him** and _him alone_.

“Alright, my dear. I ask you keep your gaze on me, if you wouldn’t mind.” The hand began to stroke the outer side of the taller man’s bony leg– gentle, light. And most importantly, a steady rhythm to focus on.

“You seem especially peeved by Dormy as of late, love. He’s not getting under your skin _too much_ , I hope? Edward’s habit for long tales might make for interesting amusement when one’s trying to keep themselves dry, but I can imagine it’s just as easy to drown in his… _abundance of self worth._ ”

His tones were soft, almost breathless as he hoped it would draw in Jonathan’s focus.

Well, Jonathan wasn’t sure **what** he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t… whatever _this_ was. Hypnotizing through idle conversation? How absurd. If it was meant to lull him into a relaxed state, the hand on his leg was seeing to it **that** didn’t happen. In fact, it kept him rather physically tense.

But he’d given his word, he would go along with this, he would **_try_ **. Besides, at least one of his instructions had been simple enough to follow; Jervis most definitely had the kind of eyes one could easily find themselves lost in for hours if permitted to.

“ _Please_ . Edward Nygma is nothing more than a _frightened little boy_ underneath all that **_ego._ ** _Under my skin, indeed._ Ridiculous. Although perhaps I **could** do without his _constant hovering._ ”

Was he supposed to contribute to the idle conversation, or just listen? Hm. He supposed he would be told.

“I suppose I can understand that. As grateful as I am for the company, and even the privileges provided… I can’t help but **miss** the home we’ve created in Gotham’s countryside.”

Even breathing, even tones. Jervis matched his words to the swirling of his thumb against cotton fabric. Soft, beguiling in every sense of the word. Jervis took another slow deep breath, exhaling it slowly as he spoke of genuine sentimentality.

“I enjoyed it, you know. _Every moment of it._ Waking up to you beside me, the pleasant discussions, the way you’d lay yourself bare to me in a way I don’t think you’ve done since being locked away.” Another slow exhale, as Jervis hummed in bliss from the memories, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Tell me you miss it too, Jonathan. _Being locked away in a world of our very own._ ”

Memories of their shared life they’d built outside of these suffocating walls had drawn Crane out of his feelings of mild frustration, and into a state of melancholy. But he had to give Jervis credit; he was certainly feeling more relaxed. Less on edge. But this was a sentiment felt rather than thought.

“Yes. I miss it.” He conceded with a small sigh. “But I can’t find it in me to feel regret over being _here_ , either. Had it happened any differently… we may still be lying to ourselves.” The harshness so evident in his tone from earlier was gone now, replaced with an air of tired sadness.

“No, neither can I.” Jervis admitted. “You’ve taught me that there’s something beautiful about reality, and for that _I’ll forever be thankful._ ”

Jervis leaned in closer, slowly. Never enough to jolt his skittish partner. The Englishman went on speaking just as calmly. Swirl. Tick. Swirl. Tock.

“But Arkham does have a way of leaving one fretfully wound. Not as picturesque as the soft cawing of bird and beast. The gentle wind blowing through the frame of the barn. Do you remember that, Jonathan? _Can’t you just_ **_hear_ ** _it?_ ”

The man exhaled again, it becoming the gentle breeze of their memories. He repeated himself a few more times, slightly rocking in place with every expansion of his chest. In….Out… In… Out.

“We’re there now. Your head nestled in my lap, as we share our stories. You always **did** light up whenever you had the chance to talk about dear Harley.“

Crane listened closely, intrigued by Jervis’ technique. The way he was speaking was eerily captivating. The scene he was describing sounded lovely… and, yes, familiar.

Jonathan found he wanted desperately to hear the wind through the eaves, to smell the hay from the loft, and as irrational as it should have been, distantly, he swore he could. His focus never wavered from those gentle blue eyes, the very same eyes he’d spent the night gazing up into, as delicate fingers toyed with his hair.

“I was recounting a story about young Harleen.” Brows knitted together, briefly, before going slack again. “Have I finished, or have I yet to begin?”

He had a concussion. He couldn’t remember _how_ that had happened, but it easily explained his muddled confusion, the heaviness of his head. Was he dying? Perhaps. He felt no distress over this notion. He was at peace.

Jervis did his best to keep his grin from growing, as he took in his partner’s visage. Yes, Jonathan’s eyes fluttered– his dear Hare was trying so hard to keep his promise of eye contact.

“You’ve just finished, love,” Jervis whispered– reenacting the tenderness he had felt then when the man had suffered a concussion. “But I fear our talk has tuckered you out, poor thing. Close your eyes, **rest** . I promise to wake you soon. _I’m here._ ”

That was all the invitation needed, as Jonathan closed his eyes– limping forward slightly as if he was his very namesake. Lifeless like a scarecrow who’s arms have fallen to its sides from neglect.

“Alright, Jonathan. We’re going to have a chat. Tell me ‘yes’ if you can hear me.”

“Yes.” Crane mumbled, though still audible enough for the task at hand.

“Lovely. Ooh, you’re doing wonderfully. I’d like to try something a bit more complex, is that alright?”

“Yes.” Simple. Direct and to the point. His Hare had always loved his bluntness.

“We’ll start with something easy enough. Something I already know the answer to, surely? **Tell me** : What are your thoughts on Edward?”

Ah, questions, more idle conversation, they had time. The Scarecrow was still in the truck and would remain there ‘til morning dawned.

“Edward Nygma is a parasite.” He replied, simply, without feeling compelled in the slightest to sugar coat it, despite knowing Jervis saw him as a friend. “An _intelligent_ parasite but a _parasite_ nonetheless. He is _fortunate_ you’ve taken _so kindly_ to him. … We’ll need to move soon. He knows where we _live.”_

Jervis couldn’t help the amusement he felt, despite the fact his partner was talking about his friend. He knew his Hare wasn’t a fan of the Dormouse, but even **that** seemed a tad excessive. It was rude. _Incorrigible._ But that was also a thing about Jonathan he enjoyed. There was a charm to the bluntness that let one know where the man stood on things.

“All in good time, love. Worry for another day.” At this Jervis removed his hand from Jonathan’s leg, as he gently brushed away the stray hairs from the man’s brow. “Let’s continue our talk. Not about people who fill you with contempt. Tell me how you feel about Ms. Harleen.”

Jonathan wondered, distantly, why Jervis was asking his opinion on so many people. It seemed… nonconsequential. But so long as Jervis continued stroking his hair like that, Jonathan would gladly continue to answer his silly questions. Besides… this was a much more pleasant topic. A small, barely noticeable smile crossed his face.

“ _Oh dear Harleen._ Such a _bright_ child. One of the few remaining kind souls in this world. … There have been times in the past where she and she alone has been able to _find me_ amongst the Scarecrow’s wrath, when even Arkham’s doctors were so certain I’d been lost forever.” The smile fell away now.

“I _worry_ about her from time to time, you know.”

Jervis had plans to quickly move the conversation along– he didn’t want the man to be in his state of hypnosis for long. This was all to prove a point that he could do it, not to pry the man open to have him expose all his secrets.

Still… The Englishman couldn’t help but be curious all the same– especially with the look of concern that Jonathan now wore.

“Oh? What exactly worries you, my dear? Is it because of the… _company_ she keeps?”

He was, of course, referring to the Joker.

“No…” His head shook slowly, sluggishly. “Heartbreak is a lesson we all must learn in our lifetime. The Joker will be hers. It is unavoidable. I worry more about what this _godforsaken city_ will do to her. _And that I may be around to witness her bright innocence fade.”_

Despite the obvious somber meaning behind his words, his tone remained calm, as if he were speaking in his sleep.

Jervis couldn’t help but feel the sadness to his partner’s sentiments, as it evoked familiar words of Lewis Carroll:

 

> _“‘Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread_
> 
> _With bitter tidings laden_
> 
> _Shall summon to unwelcome bed_
> 
> _A melancholy maiden_
> 
> _We are but older children, dear_
> 
> _Who fret to find our bedtime near’”_

The Mad Hatter sighed, finding himself stroking Jonathan’s brow once more– this time to comfort them both.

“But we needn’t speak of hypotheticals, love. Let’s do one more test, then we shall set you right as rain.” Jervis hoped to change the heaviness in the cell into something lighter. Something that would brighten his spirits more than the looming feeling of dread.

“Jonathan… I’d like to hear how you feel about _me_. Tell me, what thoughts do you usually have when I’m around?”

Call it the Englishman’s inner romantic, but it never **hurt** to hear how much one was cherished.

The subject change was not only gladly, but easily, accepted. It was Jervis’ voice he was following in the darkness, the questions he proposed merely pit stops along the way. The fingers across his brow, along with the new suggested train of thought, had Jonathan wanting very much to open his eyes and look into those pools of blue. But he was _resting_ now.

“Mmm…” Crane hummed. “To call it love feels so… _juvenile.”_ A pause, a sigh. “I’ve grown accustomed to the darkness, but your very essence breathes _life_ into this old, withered heart. It’s as if I’m seeing the sun for the very first time. It’s such a new, _unknown sensation_ , it fills me with both _warm euphoria_ and _fearful dread.”_

There was a pause, albeit a brief one. The corner of his mouth twitched up into a lopsided smirk.

_“Not to mention, your devious streak has a way of leaving me achingly aroused.”_

Jervis had found his heart fluttering during his Hare’s words. For a man so against the writings of the genre, Jonathan Crane had… a very alluring way of expressing himself. What greater poets have expressed the very notion of a person being the very thing that alights another born from darkness? _Shakespeare?_ Perhaps, but not in the very realness of a man who truly came from the void in which he spoke. A man most likely born from hate, hardened by suffering, and now? Spoke in gentle tones that made the Englishman want to melt right there, wrapped up in his own euphoria.

However, it was in the same breath that the rug had been pulled from underneath him, as Jervis Tetch came crashing down at the gravity of what his partner said next. Becoming rigid in place, knees still grounding him, Jervis hated how his voice cracked from surprise.

“ _P-pardon me?_ ”

Crane was silent, which was for the best as Tetch tried to make sense of the phrase. No, no Jonathan hadn’t meant it the way it sounded. No, you see… that was the dratted problem with the language! When words could be paid to mean a many numerous of things, one couldn’t help but come to…. _misunderstandings_ . OH, how horrible and… and **PERVERSE** Jervis was being! No, Jonathan surely meant it in the way of _‘excitement’_ . For wasn’t the Mad Hatter just as delighted by the Scarecrow’s own _wicked tendencies_ ? Wasn’t he also **thrilled** by the thought of knowingly waltzing among beasts and boogie men, only to know he was safe?

No… Jervis would have to play the role of Alice and ask for Humpty Dumpty to tutor him in meanings.

“Jonathan… please elaborate on what you mean by **‘aroused’**.”

There came a momentary lull then, a hiccup in his dream-like state, as if something inside of him had activated and was attempting to fight back. To warn him **_not_ ** to answer that. But he could not fathom why, and the resistance faded as quickly as it had arisen. _Odd._

“ _What I mean,_ is you awaken within me _carnal urges_ not experienced since _high school._ Living with you was _utter torture_ at times, Tetch. The first time I awoke to find myself wrapped in your embrace, with your warmth pressed up against my back so tightly, _your breath on my neck,_ I lay there for hours in _miserable agony.”_

Spouting these things felt like… relief. Like the first gulp of air after being held under water for far too long.

“And watching you try and _behead the Batman_ , and on my behalf no less… _oh I thought I may just soil myself right there in the street.”_

Jonathan stopped talking and the silence that followed was heavy, but short lived.

“Ohh. I think he might be **into** you. _Just a huuunch._ ” Ragdoll lilted from just the other side of the wall.

Jonathan remained still, limp, eyes still closed, but now he wore a deep frown. There was an intruder is his safe place.

Jervis, meanwhile, was… well, **mortified** wouldn’t even begin to cover half of it! Face flushed, he had to stand and take a step back. It… it wasn’t that hearing that someone **_desired you_ ** was… _negative_ . But the fact of the matter was that **hadn’t** been his intent to hear. Not **here** , not in this place– and certainly not where their most intimate moments were **made witness** to those that would only _mock and jeer_!

Not to mention the proverbial hornet’s nest that had been prodded at when it came to his own… _inclinations_.

No, there was no time to think about his **own** troubles! His own… inadequacies in the field of– to use Jonathan’s phrasing– ‘ _carnal urges_ ’. It was with a shaky breath, completely ignoring the likes of the other inmate privy to their conversation, that Jervis placed a gentle hand on his partner’s head.

“Jonathan, when I snap my finger you will awaken from your trance.”

He momentarily thought about suggesting that their whole exchange be forgotten. Yet… while Jervis would be willing to suffer with Crane believing he failed, the guilt of covering up what had **indeed** been an **accident** … Well, that was a line even the likes of **he** wasn’t willing to cross– even if it would save them all the awkwardness of the aftermath.

It was with one last stroke of his love’s red flames that Jervis withdrew his hand, snapping Jonathan back to reality.

Crane’s eyes opened and the world came rushing back. Brows furrowed, he blinked. He looked around as if not sure where he was. The barn was gone, they were back in Arkham. Crane was suddenly flooded with feelings of… excited disbelief. His eyes finally landed on Jervis, and he stood abruptly.

_“I was there.”_ He breathed, staring wide-eyed at this **_genius_ ** he shared a cell with. “You somehow managed to completely convince me _I was_ **_there!_ ** Simply by _suggesting_ it were _true!_ No technology, no chemicals, _just your_ **_voice._ ** _”_ Jonathan stepped toward Jervis, placing his hands on his shoulders (gently; he couldn’t let his excitement make him forget the man was still very much injured).

“I don’t know _how,_ but you managed to harness the _power of suggestion_ and wield it with _frightening precision_ . Jervis Tetch, you are a _genius_ . I am **sorry** for doubting you.”

Swallowing his pride and admitting he’d been wrong hadn’t even hurt that time. Not when he’d just witnessed Jervis do the seemingly impossible. But his state of awe soon faded, his grin slowly melting away into a concerned frown as he began to recall some of the things he’d said to Jervis while under his… persuasion.

“Oh.” Crane stiffly and awkwardly lifted his hands off of Jervis’ person and stepped back, giving him some space. “And I. Suppose I shared a little bit **too** much in regards to my… personal, problems. You’ll have to, forgive me for that, as well.”

Not even the excitement could smother the humiliation he was feeling now. He suddenly discovered he couldn’t bring himself to even look at Jervis after that.

“ _I’m sorry Jonathan_ ,” Jervis instantly blurted out, his distraught evident. “I hadn’t meant– _I would_ **_NEVER_ ** _pry your secrets!_ ”

And this the Englishman implored to his partner, eyes wide as panic was beginning to set in. Jervis had been working on boundaries– he had, truly! He didn’t push anymore than he felt the right to. He didn’t want to control this man, and he certainly didn’t want to force the man he cared for to share what he didn’t wish to!

“I, I had thought I was asking _simple questions_ – simple inquires more so to **prove** the validity of the test. I truly hadn’t meant– I certainly wouldn’t have **continued** ,” not here, not with walls with ears,” Please understand, _I meant no harm._ ”

Oh no. Now **_Jervis_ ** was apologizing? That made this all the more horrible. Jonathan raised both hands and shook his head.

“Oh **believe me.** I **know** you wouldn’t have _willingly_ been privy to **that** sort of information. Especially not so _soon_ into our _relationship_ . You are not to blame for my _vulgar inclinations,_ nor my _apparent need to divulge it so willingly.”_

“But I should’ve been AWARE. I should have stopped you the moment I suspected–”

Their apology contest was momentarily put on hold when there came the sound of a fist pounding on the wall. They both turned to stare at it as Ragdoll’s voice followed.

“ _Just checking._ Does this mean you two **_aren’t_ ** going to do the _horizontal tango?”_

It was in unison that Jervis and Jonathan yelled towards Ragdoll’s direction.

“ **_Mind your own business_ ** **!** ”

The Mad Hatter huffed, even as the inmate in the cell over laughed at their expense. It was after a few deep breaths that Jervis’ tensed shoulders began to relax, as the ridiculousness of the situation set in.

“ _Heaven’s virtues_ ,” Jervis shook his head, amusement breaking through his worry. “Only in a city like **Gotham** could a man find himself in a mess like this. **Fretting** over accidental privacy breaches because of _hypnotic suggestion_ . It’s rather _absurd_ , wouldn’t you say?”

Crane was endlessly thankful for both the tone change and the opportunity to change the subject. He sighed and did his best to allow some of his tension to leave with the breath.

“Yes, _absurd_ is a _fitting sentiment_ . … Now, if you think you might be able to use your new found talent to… _convince a guard_ to **aid** us when the time comes, well.” He returned to his cot, laying on it, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling with a smile.

“I imagine we’ll be back to enjoying our tea time in comfort before the Yuletide rolls around.”

“You do _know_ how I enjoy my tea,” Jervis responded, sitting on his own cot– legs crossed at the ankles. “But, yes, as for the assistance… I believe it can be done. I would need to set up the pieces ahead of time, Time wouldn’t be on our side in order for me to patiently walk them through. But my research has shown that a simple trigger word should suffice enough with inducing the state at a later time.”

Jonathan managed to look back over at his partner, his own pride in the man’s accomplishments evident.

“I still can’t believe you’ve managed it at all. And you were able to discover this from _magic books_ in Arkham’s library? _Remarkable._ ”

“Well, it was a _little more_ complicated than that, Jonathan.” Still, Jervis was glowing from the praise. “A little bit of research here, and little bit of inferences there… Would you like to hear about it? It is surprisingly fascinating.”

“ **I would.** ”

And so they did. Questions, answers– it all became a sea of words that echoed off the walls of the hospital. Excitement, debates on what conclusions could be drawn from the research. Yet, most importantly, it was with their discussion that hope came anew. Later they would need to talk about the nature of what had been revealed that day. What routes their relationship would potentially take, as feelings continued to be analyzed and scrutinized.

But for now… _a plan was beginning to form._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet dreams are made of this  
> Follow Mica (you can't disagree): http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	22. The Scarecrow Walks at Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All their hard work pays off, as the Arkham gang makes their escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Needles
> 
> Also that is the second time a Goosebumps title has been dropped. What a magical RP this is.

Time may not have always been on the Mad Hatter’s side, but time was all he had– as he, his March Hare, and his good friend Dormouse waited for the moment to strike. It had been troublesome, working past the pain as Jervis attempted to flex and work out his poor arm. It was also for the best he did it whilst there were no other eyes outside of Jonathan’s– least the orderlies or doctors come wise and no longer see him as vulnerable. He needed that ruse to continue, after all, to ‘ _ welcome little fishies in _ ’ if their plan to escape was to go off without a hitch.

None suspects an attack from a frail patient, after all.

Though, ‘ _ attack _ ’ would be too harsh of a word. No, it was nothing as crude as that. Jervis Tetch preferred to be a gentleman. There was nothing violent about  _ conversing _ , was there? Henry Bennett most certainly hadn’t thought so, as the Mad Hatter set out on persuading the African-American man to their side. A nice enough fellow– he had certainly always treated Jervis with enough respect. But unlike the likes of a Mister Kenny Rogers,  _ this _ guard didn’t have a family of his own he needed to be around for. A shame to even have to use one of the kinder guards at all, but… one has to make due.

Setting up the trigger phrase needed, Jervis had sent the man on his merry way-- of course having helped him forget that they had a chat at all.

It seemed harder to convince Riddler on the matter of the plan, however. Dormouse, always skeptical and questioning, didn’t even want to listen when Crane put his two cents in on the matter. Of course, Edward’s views seemed to have done a quick roundabout when Jervis convinced his helpful messenger to send along the tools the Riddler had required as part of their escape plan. Whether he believed it was all played out because of hypnotic suggestion, or he assumed the Mad Hatter had bribed him… well, that was another matter entirely.

The point was, everything was beginning to fall into place. Ingredients for toxins were being fetched, healing was being done, and all three inmates were all on the same page.  

All they needed was time.

It was a challenge for Jonathan to keep his expression indifferently dour as he was led back to his cell after his outdoor recreation time. Excitement bubbled just under the surface. Nevar had just brought him the final vial he needed to concoct his infamous fear toxin.

He had grown anxious the closer and closer their plan had come to fruition. Being Jonathan Crane was fine, in fact it had even come with a few perks as of late. But still, there were times he swore he could hear a familiar voice calling to him, beckoning him to don the mask and reclaim his dignity.

It was long since past due for the Scarecrow to make his return debut.

Jervis was already back in the cell by the time he had reached it, but he didn’t allow himself to look at him until he was uncuffed and the guards were gone, lest he let his expression slip. Once they were and he did, it was accompanied by a devious smirk. He reached over and grabbed a thick book, retrieving the small vial from his shirt and carefully placing it inside with the rest of them. Jonathan’s eyes returned to Jervis as he closed the book, but kept it sitting on his lap.

“It feels  **_good_ ** to finally finish this particular tale. I never  _ did _ ask;  _ how is your arm feeling today?” _

Jervis had been sitting on his own cot, his own book he had been reading closed. “ _ The Looking-Glass Wars _ ” hadn’t been keeping much interest for him anyway. Though he had been curious to see its contents, the  _ very idea  _ of twisting the original meaning of Lewis Carroll’s work to fit the author’s own views left a bad taste in Jervis’ mouth (the irony of this completely lost on him). 

Still, Jonathan’s question was a welcoming distraction.

“Mmm, nearly perfect, I should say.” The Englishman took his arm out of its sling to flex it slightly. “There’s still  _ some  _ pain when I overexert myself. But I imagine if I don’t do much heavy lifting, I’ll be  **more** than up for taking on  _ an adventure or two. _ ”

Jervis’ own mischievous smirk helped to punctuate his meaning, as he slipped his arm back into his sling. 

“I take it to mean our monstrous crow has delivered the last bit you require? I never thought to ask about it, but how would you go about preparing your toxin while in here? I _ imagine  _ you must have done so before?”

“Yes, once before.” He glanced over at the toilet, his lip wrinkling with the distasteful memory. “ _ Although I think I’ll use the _ **_sink_ ** _ this time. _ ” He only wished he’ had thought to procure a pair of gloves, but in the end it wouldn’t really matter. He was no stranger to chemical burns, he would most certainly survive.

“You know I’ve been  _ thinking. _ ” He added, attention back on his cellmate. “We might **require** a bit of,  _ heavy lifting _ . And the way **_I_ ** see it, Mr. Bolton  **_owes_ ** us a favor or two, don’t you think? Why, we could even  _ invite him back to  _ **_our_ ** _ place _ where we can …  _ settle our differences.” _

It was a thought he had been mulling over for awhile, only wishful musing at first. It would be difficult sneaking around the shadows with a man the size of a truck, but oh, _ the payoff would be worth it. _

Jervis smiled at this.

“Using an undeserving meathead for a meat-shield? Oh, I can’t see any fault in  **that** .” Jervis paused. “Not to mention, if we were to run into any trouble, it would help to have a Knight of our own.”

Not that the Hatter felt comfortable referring to Bolton as ‘the White Knight’. That man had been a jovial saint in the story. But with it being Wonderland, supposed the nonsensical idea of two Red Knights striking one another was allowed. A poor game with little rules, but that was life for you.

“In any case, that would mean we would have to make a special stop just to procure him. Do you suppose Time would be on our side for such an endeavor? As much as I  **would** relish that Jabberwock meeting the end of a  _ vorpal blade _ , I wouldn’t enjoy doing so at the detriment of our escape.”

_ And poor Dormouse would be so disappointed… _

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about **_that._ ** ” Crane set the book aside, tucking it under a few others in the stack. “We’ll have all the time we  _ need _ while those  _ foolish guards are writhing on the floor in terror. _ ” 

He ended this statement with a dark chuckle, rubbing his hands together in devilish glee; an old habit he wasn’t likely to break any time soon. Oh, how he’d _ missed _ hearing others scream, and knowing  **he** was the cause of it.

“But of course if you  **really** don’t think we should _ risk _ it, I suppose we  **could** always  _ postpone  _ our little revenge celebration for another day. After all, we do have quite the challenge ahead of us already, with  _ three _ in our party. Adding a fourth might be  _ pushing it. _ ”

While it was true that working with others came with the unfortunate side effect of having to consider everyone’s feelings on the matter, Crane had to admit having someone else there to see it from a different perspective, to spot any flaws before they became a problem, may have its benefits.

Jervis had watched Jonathan’s display with a sense of joy of his own. There was something endearing about seeing his partner display an almost childlike enjoyment out of the mischief he planned on unleashing. What sort of man would he be to let that fanciful attitude slip because of something as  _ ridiculous  _ as logic?

“ **Let’s do it** ,” Jervis replied eagerly, “  _ I _ for one welcome the challenge. Besides… you  _ did _ promise I’d get quite the show. I wouldn’t want to  **miss** such an opportunity simply because we were  _ afraid _ of a little risk.”

Crane fought back the theatrically dreamy sigh the fluttering in his chest threatened to elicit. Jervis’ enthusiastic conviction for this admittedly risky plan was  _ admirable, _ among other things.  _ The man was so  _ **_fearless_ ** _! _ Crane had to avert his gaze, lest he simultaneously lose focus and humiliate himself by fumbling over the emotions he still struggled to control.

“Then it’s decided!” Crane stood and occupied himself with inspecting the sink, more so he had an excuse to face away from Jervis. “I’ll prepare the chemicals tonight, we’ll inform Nygma  tomorrow evening, and then, tomorrow night… will that give you enough time to work your magic?”

“Oh, yes. That’s should be  _ more than  _ sufficient.” Jervis confirmed, his own nerves tingling from the excitement and anticipation of it all. “I will fetch our dear pawn come afternoon, and instruct him to be alert for when it’s time to fetch and carry our things.”

Jervis was about to say more, when he noticed how… insistently Jonathan was looking at the sink. Ah,  _ poor dear _ , he must be keen on starting. Well, he shan’t hold him up then!

“Shall I keep watch, my dear?” The Englishman asked innocently enough. “I’d offer idle conversation, but I imagine you’ll want to focus while working.”

“I would like you away from the sink as much as possible– while the fumes alone don’t bother  _ me _ , I can’t say it would be the same for  _ you _ .” He did momentarily look back at Jervis, before looking away again. “However… I wouldn’t mind you talking, no. It would make…  _ pleasant background noise _ . Just as long as you wouldn’t mind the fact I’ll only be half paying attention.”

“Ah! In that case, I can tell you just what my thoughts were on the  _ horrid book _ I’ve been reading!”

At this Crane made a noise of amusement, as he went to retrieve all his ingredients. With Jervis as look-out and the chemist deep into his measurement, the night passed with serenity for those within the walls of Arkham. 

But, come the morrow… No peace would be found.

* * *

 

The next day dawned, and passed by with agonizing slowness. Therapy with Dr. Leland seemed to drag on forever, and Crane found it difficult to focus and not let on he was distracted and impatient. Outside recreation was declined and, for the first time in awhile, he and Jervis spent this time playing chess indoors. It had served to calm both of them, setting frazzled nerves to rest and leveling their minds for the task ahead. Nygma had joined them there, and was informed the escape was taking place that night… and to be ready.

Afternoon crept into evening, and the criminal couple sat in eager anticipation in their cell. Crane took out his pocket watch (one of the few “luxury” personal belongings he’d earned from good behavior), flipping it open to look at it again, even though not five minutes had passed since last he checked. The miniature reaper brought his scythe down in time with each passing second, and in that moment, Crane felt as if it were mocking him. He snapped it closed and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Jervis had instructed Bennett to bring their things and let them out of their cell around this time, and while Crane did not doubt the hypnotizing had worked, the possibility of the unwitting guard being caught before he made it to them hung over their heads like a foreboding cloud.

“Now love,” Tetch had said, soothingly, breaking the tension Crane was feeling in the air, “you know the old adage: ‘ _ a watched pot never boils _ ’. We just need to be patient, is all.”

Crane was willing to play along with his partner’s optimism. While it seemed foolish, it was always better to dread and prepare for what may come; he supposed Jervis had a point of not fretting over the variables that they couldn’t control. What would happen would happen, what would be would be. It was merely the waiting to see how the tides would turn that was  _ agonizing _ .

Jonathan smiled as Jervis pulled out his own pocket-watch to look at the time– humming softly to himself. So there **_was_** a limit to the Englishman’s optimism!

“’ _ Two days wrong _ ,’” Jervis mumbled to himself, despite knowing his watch was nothing as clever as the original Hatter’s. “’ _ I told you butter wouldn’t suit the works[.] _ ’“

“‘ _ It was the best butter _ ,’“ Crane cited back, amused. Ah, the mind’s need for distractions during stressful times. Still, he’d play along. Jervis perked up from this, still surprised when his dear Hare would take up his designated role.

“‘ _ Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well _ ,’” at this the Englishman shook his head with mock disappointment, shutting the cover casing of his watch with an audible snap. “‘ _ You shouldn’t have put it in with the bread– _ ’“

Jervis didn’t get to finish his quote, as the all-too familiar sound of the door at the end of the hall opened– the heavy fall of footsteps echoing off the hospital’s walls in a steady procession. Trepidation turned to a full out Cheshire cat grin as Tetch’s gaze fell upon his precious pawn– arms full to the brim with all their belongings.

“ **Ah!** Little oyster!  _ So good to _ **_see_ ** _ you! _ ” Bennett didn’t reply, his face expressionless as he instead took his key-card and held it against the door’s scanner. Jervis turned his attention towards his partner. “And  _ here  _ you had been  **worried** .”

Crane’s eyes darted over to glance at Jervis for a single second before returning to gawking at the man standing there with their belongings. It had really been that simple? They were being let out of their cell by a guard, being given back their personal belongings, as if they were being released on good behavior. 

Astounding.

The ex-professor stood as soon as the door had opened completely, and began greedily and eagerly snatching his things, occasionally handing a few of the Mad Hatter’s things back to him as well. Once all of his things were back in his possession, he returned to the cot and began affixing the newly filled vials to the spraying mechanisms in the gloves and sleeves. Task complete, he held up the shirt and admired his handy work. The Scarecrow mask sat beside him on the cot, and seemed to grin up at him, as well.

Crane’s gaze trailed over to the guard still standing in the doorway, and he frowned. While the man looked a million miles away, he still wasn’t keen on having an audience while they changed.

“We _are_ **through** with him, aren’t we?”

“ _ Hmm? _ ” Jervis had already been at work removing his sling, when Jonathan’s comment caught him off guard. Looking over at the young man still there, waiting for his next assignment, it was as if he was suddenly reminded that Bennett was a person rather than a wax-work. 

“Oh, _ him _ . Bennett,  **do** go off and find Riddler to release him. Afterwards, rest–  _ preferably in an empty cell. _ ” It was then that he threw a non-committed shrug over towards his partner. “All things considered, I  **do** rather like him. Best to give the dear a sporting chance.”

Crane didn’t much care one way or another, and was simply happy to see the man leave.

Backs turned to each other, the two went to work stripping out of their hospital garb. Tetch couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him, as starchy cotton cloth was molted away, and his more colorful plumage returning in its place. It was with a satisfied hum that his hat was fixed on top of his head, that the Mad Hatter felt  **reborn** .

“Oh, it does the mind  _ good _ to feel like myself again!”

Jervis allowed himself the fancy of giving himself a quick hug– his joy very much evident. Alas, he had one more bit to add to his attire, and it was with his golden gas-mark adorned, he turned back to his partner.

“ _ Shall we _ , March?”

The man he turned to see was no longer a man, but a ghoulish specter. Scarecrow stretched and flexed his hands into the gloves, fingertips now fittingly tipped with dangerous looking claws. It was ridiculous how powerful this getup made him feel, how much confidence it provided, and Crane knew this. But it didn’t matter. Jonathan Crane was tired; he would gladly allow this inner beast take the helm for a while.

“Oh and we **_shall.”_ ** He replied, hand clenching into a fist dramatically, as he stalked out of the cell. He glanced up and down the hall, noting everything was eerily quiet. For the best. “Now, we’ll need to find a guard with another key card for Bolton’s cell. Shouldn’t prove  **too** difficult.”

“You’re  _ leaving _ again,  **aren’t** you?” Ragdoll whined from his cell, ruining the silence. He lay sprawled out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly he sat up, arms limp, like a possessed marionette, and grinned at them through the glass.

_ “Tell Penguin I miss ‘im while you’re out there, would you?” _

For a moment Jervis felt inclined to tell the man ‘no’. The other inmate had been  **relentless** at every turn with his mockery… Although, the Englishman supposed with the fact Ragdoll wasn’t even asking to be set free, the crazed criminal had enough sense to realize that ship had  _ long  _ since sailed.

“ _ I’ll pass the word along _ ,” Jervis murmured, at least giving Ragdoll  **that** . 

It was soon afterwards that the two were slinking their way down the halls, more so to not be caught unaware than from worry about repercussions. It was when the two villains had made their way towards the corridor where Jonathan’s old cell lied, that they were graced by the presence of another guard on duty.

The Mad Hatter couldn’t help the smile on his face as he sneaked up behind the man, tapping him innocently enough on the shoulder.

“ _ Excuse me, lad _ ,” Jervis purred, his grin ever growing as the man whipped himself around. “I believe you have something we  **need** .”

The poor thing, he didn’t even get a chance to fight back before Scarecrow grabbed him by the face– gassing him before carelessly throwing the guard towards the ground. Instead of screams, the Master of Fear was amused to see the man curl up into a ball– whimpering out in protest.

“Please… stop!  **No more!** ” Whimpering turned to full on sobbing. “ _ I-it’s not  _ **_funny_ ** _! _ ”

“Ah, gelotophobia,” Scarecrow tutted, as Hatter went to grab the card key off his person, “ It’s almost  _ laughable _ he decided this line of work at all.”

The unfortunate guard was left to whimper on the floor as they continued on down the hall. Bolton saw them before they’d even gotten there, watching them approach with cold fury in his eyes. He stood and greeted them at the glass door.

“Would you look at this. Criminals just wandering **right** out of their cells whenever they **feel like it.”** The hulk of a man raised both fists to pound against the glass.  **_“This place is a joke!”_ **

“Indeed.” Scarecrow could easily agree with that sentiment.  He gestured to the card reader and stepped back as Jervis used the card to open the door. Bolton took a few steps back and stared at them.

“… What is this?” He growled, suspiciously.

“This is a  _ doorway _ .” Scarecrow explained. “You walk  **through** it. Surely even  **_you_ ** can manage _ that _ ?”

Bolton glowered, gripping his fists tightly to his sides.

“I can manage that,  **Crane** . But you n’ your  _ boyfriend _ are going to  **regret it.** ”

The behemoth of a man took a step closer, and then another. Bolton had been waiting for this day, waiting to show the crackpot doctors that **his** methods were the only way to deal with **scum** _like them_. These people they were dealing with, they were an **infestation**. _Pests_ that needed to be dealt with.

And if the guards were too incompetent to do anything, then it was his job to pick up the slack!

Bolton grabbed Scarecrow by the scruff of his collar, sneering down at him. But instead of the familiar fear he was used to seeing on the twig of a man, Crane laughed. His laughter erupted forth, a mad cackling that was enough to give even Bolton pause.

“You know, Bolton,”Crane managed to spit out, his mirth causing his voice to rumble in his chest. “ **_We’re not afraid of you anymore_ ** .”

Bolton’s mistake had been honing in his focus on Scarecrow, when in all actuality he should have been paying attention to his partner. The ex-guard learned his misstep too late, as his side was greeted with the heavy force of a metal chair. The bulking man grunted in pain, losing his grip on Crane as he stumbled back. Bolton didn’t get a chance to response, before he was slammed by the chair yet again.

“’ _ Speak roughly to your little boy/ And  _ **_beat_ ** _ him when he sneezes[.] _ ’“

**THWACK!**

“‘ _ He only does it to annoy/ Because he knows it  _ **_teases_ ** _ [!] _ ‘“

**CRACK!**

The Mad Hatter was panting by this point, his body exerted by the sudden use of brute force. Thankfully for him, Lock-Up had been stunned enough that he was down on his knees. The Englishman let the chair clatter to the cement floor, reaching into his coat pocket as he made his way closer to the fallen man. The ex-guard looked up to see Jervis’ look of utter contempt.

“ _ I think we’re  _ **_finished_ ** _ here. _ ”

And it was a flick of his wrist, that the Mad Hatter slammed his card against Bolton’s temple– instantly claiming another piece to their game.

They were working against the clock, but Scarecrow couldn’t help but revel in their victory, _ just a little _ . He grinned down at the brute on the floor, pressing his index finger against his forehead to tilt his head back. Oh how fantastic it felt, seeing Lyle Bolton’s eyes so unfocused, so blank, so… _ so dead. _

“The way you render the human mind into nothing more than pliable mush… _ oh it’s like  _ **_poetry._ ** _ ” _

While Scarecrow wasn’t afflicted by the same unfortunate lovesick feelings Crane was, he still firmly believed in giving credit where it was due. Unfortunately, further gloating would have to wait, as the commotion they’d caused (and likely after being seen on the security cameras), the sirens began to blare, and several orderlies rounded the corner.

Scarecrow turned to the Hatter.  _ “Care to test out our new knight?” _

“ **Gladly.** ”

It didn’t take much effort at all to set Bolton onto the white coats– all it took was the simplest of thoughts to unleash his natural aggression. Charging out from his cage, like the wild beast he was, Lock-Up threw punches left and right. Orderlies were thrown about as if they were merely his playthings, the man’s strength amplified all the more without his worry of feeling the returned blows. In no time at all, the tank had made work of them all.

“That’s enough,” Hatter said, stopping the brute. He stepped over a fallen man in his wake, snapping his fingers as he demanded his knight follow. “You’ll have plenty more opponents to tear limb from limb, I assure you,  _ my pet _ .”

This, of course, was uttered with condescension.

The party moved along, Hatter and Scarecrow walking behind their attack dog as he knocked out all that dared to oppose them. Every so often, when a guard would come running down adjacent halls, the Master of Fear would gladly use the opportunity to unleash his toxin. Screams mixed with cries of agony like a concerto of suffering, truly music to the specter’s ears.

It was soon afterwards that the group finally made it to their rendezvous spot with the Riddler– now fully dressed in his villainous garbs. The man had a look of panic on his face, as he saw Bolton charging straight towards him.

“Not him.” Hatter ordered calmly, stopping the man in his tracks. The Mad Hatter and Scarecrow walked past their chess piece, both throwing their own amused looks as Riddler did his best to compose himself.

“ _ For  _ **_fuck’s_ ** _ sake _ , Tetch! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” His glare moved onto Bolton, who stared blankly ahead into nothingness. “What’s HE doing here? Not thinking of  **replacing** me, are you?”

“ _ Perish the thought _ , Dormouse,” Jervis responded, his eyes showing fondness even through his mask and goggles. “He’s disposable, while  **you’re** not.”

“ _ That’s debatable _ ,” Scarecrow finally said, quite done with the pleasantries. “If we’re done catching up, it’s time to earn your  **keep** , Riddler.”

The Master of Fear was already beginning to walk away– freedom being nearly in their grasp– when Riddler asked his next inquiry:

“So…  _ where’s  _ **_MY_ ** _ mask? _ ” Silence followed, and Nygma’s quick deduction skills were able to figure out why. “Are you  **_SERIOUS?_ ** You’re going to just let me breathe in your toxins, **CRANE?** ”

The mask partially hid just how amused Scarecrow was over Riddler’s realization. He turned back to face him with an eye roll and a flippant hand wave.

“Just don’t  **breathe** too much, and you’ll be  _ fine _ . I don’t hear **_Bolton_ ** complaining.” Scarecrow paused here to hold a hand up to where his ear would be, purely for theatrical punctuation. “Now  _ I suggest  _ we get going before the  **police** decide to make an appearance.”

Or worse, the Batman.

Riddler, however, was having none of  **that** . In fact, he was quite ready to rip the unslightly burlap monstrosity off of Crane’s face altogether and run. He was, however, stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Riddler's glare quickly turned to dismay as he saw the Hatter holding up a card.

“Now, Edward,  **_do_ ** hear me out…”

“OH NO!” Nygma took a leap back using his cane to defend himself as he waved it towards the other rouge. “I won’t let you place that thing on ME! I’ll  **KILL** you first!”

Scarecrow took in Nygma’s panic, slightly amused that the dapper man’s composure instantly crumbled away from the likes of the Hatter. My, a very  _ interesting _ fear response… 

Jervis, meanwhile, tried to win his friend over.

“It’s only until we leave the hospital, my card will help you function despite the gas. You’ll be perfectly  **safe** ,  _ I assure you _ – it’ll be like a dream, even!”

_ ‘More like his nightmare _ ,’ Scarecrow mused to himself, as Nygma took another step back.

“And have you turn me into another one of your zombies? No thanks!” At this Edward snarled. He had suffered the likes of being trapped within his own glorious mind before, and he would  **never** allow himself to befall the same plight again!

Riddler, however, was caught off guard as Scarecrow laughed.

“ **Leave him** . With you at your full capacity, the man isn’t  **needed** .  _ He’s  _ **_wasting_ ** _ our time. _ ”

“ _ Jonathan… _ ” Jervis scolded.

The specter smiled wickedly as he turned away, knowing that no matter what the egocentric narcissist chose, he’d suffer either way. A fate very befitting for the annoyance he had been to Crane during their incarceration.

Riddler’s mind had been made up for him then and there as he growled, snatching the card from Tetch’s gloved hands.

“ _ If something  _ **_happens_ ** _ to me, I swear to  _ **_GOD_ ** _ , Tetch… _ ”

Not that he believed in the entity, but still. The threat was very evident. And it was out of pure spite of proving the Scarecrow wrong that Nygma slapped the card against his own temple. Yet another piece added to the pile.

That was all that was needed before the party moved forth, traversing their way through the rest of the board– their destination: freedom.

The Scarecrow took the lead in their march, gleefully gassing anyone who stood in their way– of which there were regrettably few of now. It seemed they’d finally realized it was suicide to stand in the way of this deadly band of villains. Scarecrow was normally the type to sneak around in the shadows, slipping away silently, scheming from afar. But he had to admit, there was something  _ empowering _ about storming out this way, taking out anyone who dared stand in their path.

There they stood, the exit doors. And four large orderlies in front of said doors. Scarecrow grinned ever wider. Perfect, more–

**_“Fear gas!”_ ** A young man cried out, choking and coughing, stumbling down the hall behind them.  _ “They have  _ **_fear gas!_ ** _ ”  _ He then fell to the floor and began wailing. The four orderlies at the door exchanged glances before backing away, holding their hands up to let the criminals know they’d surrendered.

_ “Much obliged, gentlemen. _ ” Scarecrow muttered. Even if he’d not had his fear gas, it wasn’t as if they would have stood any chance at all with the Hulk on their side, anyway.

Gotham’s air was cool and crisp, winter’s bite making itself known that it would soon be upon the city. This, however, was merely a background concern, as the four rogues made it towards Arkham Asylum’s gates. There, attached to the bars, was a metal box housing the system that would open their way out from their prison.

The Mad Hatter smiled encouragingly at his friend.

“Do open it, would you, Dormy?”

Just because the Riddler was under his control, didn’t mean the Englishman was going to forego his manners, after all.

It was for the best they did bring Nygma along, as a quick hand inside the trance-induced villain’s coat procured the likes of a screwdriver. As skilled as Jervis Tetch was, and he would readily admit to his prowess in the likes of intricate details– his cards requiring his delicate touch– he was no match to the quick precision of the Riddler. Hatter watched in amazement as Nygma acted like he was being timed, unscrewing different pieces and ripping out cords to re-attach them to different circuits. The gate gave a short blurt of noise before opening itself--granting them their escape.

Hatter couldn’t contain his zealous gratitude, as he wrapped Riddler into an embrace.

“Oooh, that was simply  **frabjuous,** my dear!  **Superb!** ”

It was probably for the best that Nygma wasn’t there at the moment, as he more than likely wouldn’t have appreciated the sudden physical affection. Yet, luckily for him, it didn’t last long as it was time for the party to move on yet again– running into the nearby woods.

“ _ Where to next, love? _ ” Jervis asked, doing his best to keep up as his legs weren’t nearly as long as the others’. “ The safe house?”

 

**_Why_ ** **does he insist on** **_calling me that_ ** **?**

 

_ We both know why. _

 

**You haven’t** **_told_ ** **him have you.**

 

_ We have  _ **_work_ ** _ to do. Don’t lose focus. _

 

“Ah yes, _ the safe house. _ ” Scarecrow replied after a moment. He had nearly forgotten about that place, it had been quite some time since he’d used it. But perhaps it was for the best they made use of it now. “Any objections against using the safe house?” Scarecrow turned purposely toward Bolton and Riddler. Neither of them said a word, or even changed their expression in the slightest.

“ _ Neheheh _ , I didn’t think so.” There was just something so  _ delightful _ in seeing the likes of these two turned into drooling zombies. “Then it’s off to the–” Scarecrow took another step forward, and stopped, glancing around and realizing he couldn’t quite remember the way.

_ “It seems I’ve lost your little white rabbit, Hatter.” _ He grumbled, glancing back. “Perhaps  **you** should lead the way.” He gestured toward the dark trees with an outstretched hand.

The Mad Hatter was glad his face was still covered by his mask, as he didn’t have to hide his own amusement over his Hare’s fumble.

“I  **do** believe he went this way,”the Englishman said, gesturing widely with his arms and a tilt of his head towards a deeper part of the tulgey woods. “ _ Follow along, little oysters! _ ”

The fact none of the others –if they had the opportunity to voice the opinion– would care for the implication of following a charismatic Walrus to their doom, went ignored as the Hatter lead the way deeper into the darkness.

* * *

 

The Villain Safe House was exactly as Jervis had remembered it: smaller than a warehouse and dilapidated from neglect. Just the sort of unassuming out of the way place needed to house those that didn’t wish to be noticed.

Tetch opened the shack door softly, doing his best to suppress the squeaking of the rusty hinges. He knew better than to call into the place– there was always a chance some vagabond or something worse could have decided to claim the place as theirs before their rival. Not that such person would be much of a threat against either Scarecrow’s toxins or his knight’s strength, but it didn’t **hurt** to err on the side of caution.

The Mad Hatter took a moment to slink inside, pressed up against the walls’ rotted wood as he quickly ushered the others inside.

“ _ Come, come. _ Least some Bat spots us lurking about…”

Scarecrow made sure their pawns were inside before he followed; they were unlikely to close the door behind them. He squinted in the darkness before turning to rummage through a low cabinet, bringing out an old lantern. At least he’d remembered where **those** were kept. He turned the nob and the flame ignited, much to his surprise.

“Hmm.” Scarecrow lifted the lantern and looked around. “This place makes our  **barn** look like  _ the royal palace _ .” A pause, and then he added in a mutter, “I’m almost  _ envious. _ ” He turned to set the light source on the table in the middle of the room. The dim light it provided cast eerie, dancing shadows along the walls. Now this was the Scarecrow’s kind of atmosphere. He felt in his element.

“ _ Well… _ ” He glanced over his shoulder at the Riddler. “Should we give him the antidote now? _ I was kind of enjoying the quiet. _ ” He’d thought ahead this time and concocted a couple doses of antidote when he’d made his toxin. Granted, he’d made it for Jervis or himself, but neither of them ended up requiring it.

“Will the effects be immediate?” Hatter asked curiously, more so out of concern for his friend. Watching those one shares affection for scream wasn’t exactly something Jervis wished to relive anytime soon. 

“ _ Practically _ ,” Scarecrow responded with, tone laced with a wistful melancholy. “The antidote slows down the adrenal glands production, allowing the victim’s heart rate to slow down to a more even pace. While he will no longer suffer from hallucinations, he will, however, still feel a lingering presence of dread.”

At the thought of this, Scarecrow’s grin returned.

“ _ One must take their victories where they can,  _ **_I suppose_ ** _. _ ”

It was with a sense of glee that the ghoulish specter jabbed his needle into the Riddler’s neck, pressing the plunger to administer the dose. The little cry of panic the Mad Hatter gave at the move sent another thrill through him at the cruelty.

**Your little pet makes** **_delightful noises_ ** **, Jonathan. How** **_easy_ ** **do you think it would be to have him** **_squirm_ ** **?**

_ He’s off limits. _

**Oh,** **_I know_ ** **. But** **_imagine_ ** **what we could do to his friend to get** **_the same results_ ** **?**

Jonathan’s silence was its own joy, as it meant the man was considering it.

_ …Jervis is fond of Nygma. He’s be  _ **_concerned_ ** _ if something were to happen to him. _

**A pity.**

Scarecrow pulled back his needle, eyes trained to see if he could spot any sort of change in the Riddler’s expression. Instead, all we was greeted with was the same blank stare as before. It was truly fascinating just how much the Mad Hatter’s cards could suppress. The villain stepped back, gesturing out a clawed hand towards Nygma.

“I leave the patient in your more than capable hands.”

That was all the invitation the Englishman needed, as he quickly stepped forward and removed the card. Riddler seemed to almost magically come back to life, hand slapping the side of his own neck as he hissed at the pain he felt there.

“ **_CRANE_ ** _ , you sonovabitch! _ You could have at least been  **GENTLE** about it!”

Scarecrow merely rolled his eyes– the Master of Fear didn’t deal with ‘ _ gentleness _ ’ after all. The rogue seemed to have some awareness of this, as he turned his attention onto the shorter man instead.

“And  **YOU** ! Nobody said you could  **TOUCH** me! I didn’t consent to it!”

Jervis went from being alarmed at having met Edward’s ire, to huffing hotly.

“ _ Really _ , Edward. You make it sound so crass. It was  **merely** an embrace.” The Englishman sighed. “I  **apologize** if I overstepped my bounds, my dear. I was merely impressed that despite suppression, how _ quick _ and  _ nimble  _ you were to solve the puzzle of our escape.  _ Surely _ you can’t fault a man for having been caught up by his companion’s  **sheer brilliance** ?”

Nygma remained silent for a moment, having been caught off guard by the series of compliments. Well… he  _ supposed _ it did show off his  **aptitude** , how  **capable** his mind was even under the effects of a technological suppressant. How even under a mask of a dream-like fog, his mastery of technology reigned supreme. 

No, in the end he couldn’t fault anyone for having been made witness to it.

The Riddler humphed, going instead to wipe off dust from his sleeves.

“Yes, well, there’s a _ reason _ none others in this  **abhorrent city** can hold a candle to my craft. I  **am** the  **best** .” It was after a moment he allowed his gaze to trail over towards Bolton– who still remained motionless and blank as he had moments before. “ What  **do** you plan on doing with him,  _ anyhow _ , now that he’s in your  _ possession _ . I imagine he’ll be **perturbed** by his  _ involuntary involvement _ .” 

Nygma asked more for the purpose of deflecting the attention off of himself. It didn’t take a  **genius** to know that both of the men had a score to settle with the brute. The question was more about the ‘ _ when _ ’ and ‘ _ how _ ’– and whether he’d be able to slip away before their **f** **un** began.

“Oh,  **_him?”_ ** Scarecrow gestured to Bolton. “I imagine he’ll be too busy  **screaming** to do much  _ complaining _ . _ You know sometimes those under the effects of my toxin suffer a  _ **_heart attack_ ** _ before they can find help.” _

He waved a dismissive hand and turned back around to sit at the table.

“Oh, but that’s for  _ later _ . We can’t have him making a racket while we’re trying to  _ lie low, _ now can we?”

While he was impatient to watch the man suffer, Scarecrow also knew it would have to wait. Besides… it would feel so much more  _ personal  _ to watch him writhing and screaming on the floor of his own barn.

Riddler supposed he should consider himself lucky that Crane had been in a sparing mood then. Not that he planned on sticking around for the sadistic lunatic to change his mind.

“Well, this has been **fun** , kiddies, but I think it’s time we part ways. I have my own life to live, after all!”

Jervis, who had already sat down next to his partner, found his eyes opening wide at the declaration.

“Are you sure that’s for the best, Edward? Batman–”

“Will be looking for  _ numerous _ criminals, not  **one** .” At this Riddler picked up his cane, turning in place as he walked towards the door. He was at least polite enough to throw a look back, tipping his hat in farewell. “Tetch. Crane.”

And just like that Edward Nygma was gone.

Hatter couldn’t help but slump slightly in his seat, elbow resting on the old worn out table.

“That man’s impatience will be the end of him one of these days...”

He just hoped that wouldn’t be the actual case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the ever amazing Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	23. The Slaying of the Jabberwock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mad Hatter and the Scarecrow return to their long abandoned home-- and what will soon become Lyle Bolton's resting place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Torture, Character Death, Improper use of Lewis Carroll
> 
> So.... Happy Valentine's Day?

At dawn the following day, the trio made their way back toward home sweet barn. Luckily, Jonathan’s truck was still there and intact, hidden amongst the trees and brush just on the outskirts of Gotham. Unfortunately, they’d run into a slight problem once they’d reached it.

Bolton wasn’t going to fit in the truck cab.

This was a problem quickly and easily solved, however. Bolton had ridden the rest of the way laying in the back, covered in straw, and hadn’t made a single complaint about it. And so obedient still when they arrived back at their barn, sitting up and hopping out of the truck, and right into the slaughterhouse.

Scarecrow didn’t take the time to relish in the home he’d grown to miss after so long locked away in Arkham. No, instead he practically sprinted to the clutter of boxes in the back, digging through them fervently. Finally he found what he’d been searching for, and began dragging out a long, metal chain. It clattered and clanged heavily on the old wooden floor of the barn.

“I figure **this** should suffice in _holding him still_ . I wouldn’t want him putting **holes** in the walls with his _flailing._ ” He’d uttered this words with contempt, but he very much _hoped_ his toxins would have that strong of an effect on the man who’d made him feel so frightened and helpless.

Jervis, meanwhile, had been allowing himself the appeal of taking in their home. While many of their things were exactly where they last left them, he couldn’t help but tut in distaste over some of the things knocked about, as well as the obvious layer of dust that was coating the coffee table. The Englishman allowed his finger to trail it, glaring at what was left behind.

“ **Do** remind me in the future, if Harleen is to be doing errands, to have her consider the housekeeping. _My word._ ”

Not that he supposed it mattered much _now,_ as he turned back towards his partner.

“Is there anything you’d wish for my assistance with, dear? Or would you prefer I let the Master of Fear handle all the affairs?”

The chain was dragged across the floor, over to the towering brute that stood motionless in the center of the barn, just waiting for his dues.

“I should be able to handle this just.” Scarecrow tugged at Lyle’s hand with a grunt. It didn’t budge. “Fine on my.” Another tug, another grunt, the same results. Scarecrow scowled and crossed his arms in frustration and embarrassment.

“On second thought, I don’t suppose you might be able to make him a little more _compliant?_ I need his _hands_ behind his _back.”_

Jervis clearly saw amusement from the predicament as he picked up a wooden chair, walking behind the behemoth with it.

“’ _But he was very stiff and proud:/ He said ‘You needn’t shout so loud!’_ ’” Gingerly he placed the chair down, Bolton automatically sitting in it. Hatter continued his reciting. “ _And he was very proud and stiff:/ He said ‘I’d go and wake them, if-’_ ’"

Just like the poem in question, the Englishman said nothing more– Bolton’s arms already behind the back of the wooden chair, waiting to be chained. Jervis waved his arms in presentation, as if he had just finished off a performance. He backed away, allowing the real star of the show to take over.

While it was mildly humiliating having to rely on the man for something as simple as _making someone obey,_ these feelings were quickly washed away in a flood of anticipation. The Scarecrow wasted no more time, securing Bolton’s hands behind the chair, and wrapping the rest of the long chain around his wide frame. Once he was satisfied the man wasn’t going to break free, the Scarecrow practically hop-danced around to the front of him. With Bolton sitting, Scarecrow was just slightly taller than his prey. Not exactly _menacing,_ but it was more he’d been given in the past.

After taking a moment to steel his nerves and calm his excitement, Scarecrow reached out and pinched the card controlling Bolton between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, you know. _The one monster I was never able to defeat._ Until _now_.”

The card was plucked from the man’s temple, and Scarecrow watched his eyes intently as it was. He delighted in the way Bolton’s eyes went from blank to wide with dawning terror in a matter of moments. Bolton opened his mouth wide and Scarecrow grinned wickedly, ready, so very ready, to hear him scream.

But the scream never came. Instead, Bolton took one loud, gasping gulp of air and seemed to hold it. Then the panicked flailing began. Scarecrow watched in both startlement and intrigue as he struggled against his binds desperately.

 _“Hmmm.”_ An interesting case, indeed. “ _Claustrophobia?… No…”_ Scarecrow was muttering to himself. What could it be? What was Lyle Bolton seeing? The held breath exploded from the flailing victim’s throat, quickly followed by another labored yet greedy intake. This breath was used to cry out, however, and it was music to Scarecrow’s ears.

 **_“HELP! I can’t! I can’t–”_ **And then he began to cough and choke on nothing at all. The flailing increased, causing the chair to topple over, and Bolton continued to writhe and choke on the floor.

 _“Ahhh_ .” Scarecrow lowered himself to one knee to get a better look at the monster’s strained expression. _The panic_ . Crane reached up and removed his mask. “ **Someone** never learned how to _swim._ ”

_For Bolton, the likes of both Hatter and Scarecrow were nonexistent. Water tossed and turned him, as his hands flailed to try and keep him above the surface. He was no longer the bulking figure he had trained himself to be, but instead a boy. Lyle’s body had been weak then– frail. It was no wonder he hadn’t been able to fight the ocean’s current. Nature was a force to be reckoned with, and it would do with Lyle as it pleased, the water deciding that Bolton would get hit by yet another wave._

_His lungs burned from the sting of salt, as he choked and coughed out the offensive substance._

__

_“_ **_Help! Please!_ ** _”_

_Lyle could see him there, crouched down at the edge of the dock. His father, a massive unit of a man decked out in naval uniform, glared at him– the look of revulsion clear on his features._

_“Do you know how_ **_embarrassing_ ** _this is? My own son, not able to tread water? It’s a fucking_ **_disgrace_ ** _, is what it is!”_

_Lyle wanted to beg for his father’s forgiveness. The child did his best to get closer to the dock, once there, it was with a sudden jolt of horror that his father threw him back further– back away from the safety of the fixture._

_“No,_ **_again_ ** _. You’re not leaving until I see a proper stroke!”_

Back in reality, Jervis tapped his finger against the side of his face, watching the scene with intrigue.

“ _’Curiouser and curiouser’_ .” Hatter’s quiet mutters to himself grew louder, as he turned his attention towards his partner. “ **Inquiry:** what would happen, while under the influence of the toxins, if you were to introduce an outside stimuli? Like say, oh, **_water_ ** _perhaps_?”

Jervis’ devilish suggestion caused Crane to look over at him, first in astonishment, then in impressed satisfaction. Oh, he did love this man.

**You love the way he enables you. It’s little more than that.**

Crane tossed the mask across the barn, and it landed in a crumpled heap on the couch. With his hands now free, he shrugged.

“I don’t know!” His voice was laced with an uncharacteristic air of bubbly optimism. “And as _men of science._ ..” he made his way over to their box of bottled water. He pulled out a couple bottles, giving Jervis a devious smirk and looking at him from the corner of his eye. “It’s only natural we **test** the theory and _find out.”_

It must have gotten cold in the barn while they were gone, as the water was bitterly frigid. There were a few errant ice chunks floating around inside the bottles. On his way back over to his partner, Nevar made himself known by loudly fluffing his feathers. He was sitting up in the rafters, just watching them ominously. It was _possible_ he was upset with them for being gone for so long, but it was far more likely that even the bird sensed that Lyle Bolton was dangerous.

Crane handed Jervis both bottles, and gestured toward the man still choking and writhing on the floor.

_“Be my guest.”_

Jervis had been watching Jonathan from his corner– enjoying being the bystander to the show he was witnessing. ( _Oh, how his Hare’s giddiness sent ways of jubilation through him!_ ) He was, however, thrown off when the other man passed along the bottles to **HIM**.

“ **Oh!** But, Jonathan… Are you sure?” The Englishman’s gaze lingered back towards the man writhing on the floor. “The Jabberwock has harmed many with his tyranny, _but you–_ ” Jervis snapped away, his eyes locking with Jonathan’s own as he quickly cut himself off. “ _Are you positive I should be taking this from you?_ ”

Jonathan held Jervis’ gaze, staring back intently, and cocked an eyebrow. A lopsided smirk tugged at one side of his mouth.

“Would you really _deny_ me the _pleasure_ of watching my little deviant _enjoy himself_ with the _wicked little deed that he concocted?_ ”

If the plan had been to fluster Jervis, he’d call it a success. Face flushing, his partner’s words took on a whole different meaning as he recalled their conversation from **_‘the hypnotism incident’_ ** . (For that was how his mind has structured that rather _enlightening_ event.) Jervis looked away, clearing his throat as he garnered any semblance of control.

“Well, if you’re sure it would… _please you_. Let me remove a few things first.”

The Englishman went over towards the sitting room, putting down the bottles as he removed his hat and coat– showing off his rarely seen vest underneath. Gingerly laying both articles of clothing in his chair, Jervis momentarily considered stripping himself of his tie… But, just because he was going to _torture_ a man didn’t mean he had to be **barbaric** about it! Oh no, the tie stayed– and instead he rolled up his sleeves.

“Alrighty then,” Jervis grabbed the bottles from the table, swiftly turning on his heels before determinedly marching towards where Bolton was whimpering on the floor. Whatever hesitancy he may have felt quickly began to melt away, as a sneer crossed his face.

“Look at him… for all his display of brute force, he turns into nothing more than a child at the thought of water. Even **Alice** barely shed a tear after finding herself in a pool of her own.” His smirk returned as he untwisted the cap off the first bottle. “WELL, Mr. Bolton, _have a drink on me!_ ”

The man in question started to sputter wildly, both him and the chair rocking as the cold water met his face. Screaming erupted from him, sounding almost as if he was being burned by a scorching poker, more so than from a mere splash of water.

Jervis tilted the water bottle more.

“ _Have some more tea-_ -” The Mad Hatter jerked his hand, causing it to jut out with more force as Bolton actually choked on it. “ **AH!** You can always have _more_ than nothing, you know!”

Jonathan was, indeed, deriving pleasure from watching Jervis display such levels of scornful cruelty toward someone they both equally despised. He quickly decided to turn his attention onto Bolton, instead, lest a problem arise that neither of them were in a position to confront.

With his focus successfully shifted, Jonathan was suddenly filled with a different sort of pleasure. Delighted glee best described it, and Crane began to laugh from the feeling of it. Hearing the man who’d made him feel so powerless scream like that, it was oh so very satisfying. And he would die like this, no doubt, either from suffocation or from a heart attack, either was fine with Crane. _So long as he went out_ **_screaming._ **

“ _Ohh,_ such beautiful music! Such a talented _orchestrator of misery_ you are.” Crane stood next to Bolton, peering down at him with endless smug satisfaction, hands folded behind his back.

“How does it feel, Lyle? Chained down, helpless, _frightened_ . I wonder, is it dark where you are? Can you _feel_ it? The excruciating burning sensation as the water floods your nose, _your lungs_ ? Such a _pity_ there’s no one around who cares to _help you.”_

_Bolton could feel it. If he thought the water was rough before, it only grew worse as a storm suddenly came in. Waves violently rocked him back and forth, rain pelting his face as even the surface transpired against him. And there his father was, watching him with the cold indifference of a man who was willing to let his disgrace of a son die– stolen by the sea. Lyle was gagging now, heaving as he he kicked and flailed to stay above._

_It was then that another wave smacked him in the face, it too burning him as the icy cold water shot up his nose._

In reality, Jervis had gotten onto his knees– leveled with the wailing waste of a man– as a gloved hand gripped Bolton’s face. Tilted back in a way that would surely have hurt any normal being, mouth pried open, the Englishman continued to pour his second bottle down Bolton’s throat and nostrils.

“‘ _I weep for you […] I_ **_deeply_ ** _sympathize_ .’“ Jervis tone said anything but that, lilted with mock pity.  Playful banter turned into a dark growl. “ **I hope you** **_choke_ ** **.** ”

Watching Jervis drown a man in their own home was wonderful, but it didn’t cause his heart to swell nearly as much as listening to those dangerous tones that had crept into the man’s voice.

Jonathan had a degree in psychology, he was aware of his own… problems. He was, on some level, aware he was _sick,_ but it was just one of those things easily ignored and buried. And then there were times like this, when it became impossible to ignore, to take a moment to step back and self-analyze a little. The mind was a fascinating and, at times, illogical thing. Why should a lifetime of abuse cause a person to crave it still? Shouldn’t he crave _comfort_ now that he was allowed it? Why should it be the Mad Hatter’s penchant for violent revenge that warmed his heart and other things?

**We’re missing it! You incompetent fool! Don’t you want to watch the light fade from his eyes? Focus!**

Jonathan blinked, the Scarecrow’s complaints making him realize he’d zoned out for a while. Bolton was beginning to turn a sickly shade of blue. Terrified panic filled his eyes, and every failed intake of air resulted in a troubling gurgling sound. He choked and coughed, wheezed and sputtered. His lungs were full of water by now. It was only a matter of time. Crane locked eyes with his former tormentor, his only regret being Bolton couldn’t see him now.

 _“I hope they have_ **_electrified doors_ ** _where you’re going._ ” He muttered with a sneer.

Even after the second water bottle had been tossed aside– empty as its contents were now puddling on the wooden floor– Jervis continued to hold the man’s face in his hand. He watched with disdain, as every so often Bolton would cough up water onto his gloves– but still he held on. Jervis’ own strength should have been nothing against the other’s, yet, here he was, his own meager strength holding his head in place. His grip tightened as Bolton’s neck desperately wanted to flail about, to fight against his hold. Jervis locked onto the daunting dark eyes of the man who had saw no qualm in twisting his wrist until it had cracked under the strain. He wanted to see every aspect of this monster laid bare before him, see **HIM** crack until there was nothing left.

Nothing was indeed all that was left, as the heavy heaving stopped– Bolton’s pulse resting in Jervis’ hand slowing until it too was no more. The Englishman took a deep breath, dropping the head in his hand as he watched it smack onto the floor with a thump.

Picking himself up, Tetch began removing his gloves– both thoroughly soaked.

“‘ _O Oysters […]You’ve had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?_ ’“

But answer came there none, which in itself brought forth a chuckle from the Hatter.

“ **I didn’t think so.** ”

Jonathan stared down at the thing that used to be Lyle Bolton. He was dead. It was over. Should he feel regret over not having done it himself? Perhaps. But he didn’t. He felt relief, satisfaction, and immense gratitude. He’d grown used to the idea it was him against the world, that no one but him would ever come to his rescue. It felt… nice, to have someone who cared enough to help him fight his demons for once.

Crane turned to face Jervis. “Well. That’s that, then.”

He wanted kiss this man, to pull him into an embrace and let him know just how much he appreciated him. But of course he wasn’t going to do that. A part of him felt he would never have the nerve to do that. But that was alright. They would settle.

Instead, Crane made his way over to the couch, setting the mask on the back of it before sitting down. He spread his arms and smiled mischievously at Jervis.

 _“My hero.”_ He parroted himself from earlier that month. He only hoped this gesture would be reciprocated, and Jervis wouldn’t just leave him there with his arms out, looking like a fool. It was this fear, the possibility of awkward humiliation, that had made this so difficult to execute in the first place.

The darkness that had been clouding up Jervis’ mood seemed to instantly vanish, as his eyes had followed his partner towards the couch. Jonathan’s words and outstretched arms welcoming him to come hither sent the Englishman a-flutter once more. Heat rising to his cheeks, he nonetheless followed the silent instructions as he quickly scuffled across the barn’s floor. Jonathan Crane was not a man to open his arms so willingly, and now that there were no eyes nor ears to pry and jeer– Jervis Tetch would have been a _fool_ not to leap at such an opportunity!

Leap, however, he did not– as he instead slithered down onto the sofa’s seat, taking his reward as he embraced his love. Jervis couldn’t help the shaky sigh he let out, the excitement of all that had happened catching up to him.

“Oh… _I could get used to this._ ” He murmured, burying himself into the crevice of Jonathan’s neck.

Jonathan, begrudgingly, gave into the warm feelings and his foolish urges, leaning his head over to nuzzle a cheek against Jervis’ soft hair. Such a ridiculous gesture, but one that provided comfort nonetheless.

He tightened his hold, bringing Jervis as close to him as he could manage. And then, against the soothing silence of the old barn, in a tone much more somber than one would think such a touching moment called for, he replied,

_“So could I.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ART, what a splendor! Oh, hark, look and behold the likes of what Mica doth bestow upon thee!  
> Also check out her blog, yo: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	24. Converse of the Perverse Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jervis Tetch decides to visit Cobblepot Manor in order to dispose of what remained of Lyle Bolton. Talking with Penguin leads to some troubling topics.
> 
> Ozzy asks about his sex life, ya'll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Slight morbidity or body horror (though not in great detail), alcohol mention, Penguin being trashy in general? Eh.

Traveling out in Gotham during the daylight almost seemed unreal, after how long Jervis Tetch had gotten used to being a part of the city’s nightlife. The Englishman would’ve taken a moment to stop and appreciate the novelty of it, except for the fact it was freezing. Jervis found himself grabbing for the lapels of his thick coat, stopping to adjust it. It was strange to think, after so much that had happened in the past few months, that winter was finally upon them. As if to prove the fact, light snow drifted down from the heavens, helping paint the scene.

The chill was inconvenient, sure, but it was enough to keep the rogue from dallying about for too long, grabbing onto the handle of the cooler with him once more as he continued to traverse down the streets. Cement sidewalks soon led to cobblestones, and it wasn’t too much longer that the Englishman finally reached his destination: **Cobblepot Manor**.

Jervis had a moment of hesitation hit him– he recalled how agitated Jonathan had become when the likes of Edward showed up to their home unannounced. It really wasn’t proper etiquette, yet… It wasn’t like getting in contact with Oswald was necessarily a thing he could **do**. Rarely did anyone in their line of work carry a phone, the exceptions being Harley and Edward that he was aware of. In any case, there was no telling if Penguin would even be home– as the state of the manor’s broken door made Jervis have his doubts.

Working up the courage he could muster, Tetch allowed himself to press the doorbell button– genuinely surprised by the fact it still worked at all, as it boastfully chimed inside the estate. Straightening himself up, Jervis put on his best smile as he hoped his arrival would be welcomed.

Despite the broken door, the chill outside was paid no mind to the manor’s occupant, as he sat nearly dozing in his chair in front of a blazing fireplace. The chiming of the doorbell had him suddenly wide awake, however.

“ **WEH! WHOZAT!** ” Penguin jolted in his chair, a hand gripping his chest in a vain attempt to calm his racing heart. “Huh?” He leaned over and peeked cautiously around the side of the towering chair, but he was, of course, unable to see the front door from there. “Another visitor… I don’t know if I can **take** another one of those…” He whined and wilted, but slipped from his comfortable seat and slowly shuffled his way toward the door, anyway.

It was true, no visitor he’d gotten lately had brought good things. First it had been the Joker, and everyone in Gotham knew how THAT had turned out. And then it was the Scarecrow and Poison Ivy for some reason, yapping about how he should leave Harley alone, and that had ended with him having an intense nightmare about being a butler and coming home to a nude Joker.

That fear gas stuff was the **worst.** He’d never gotten treated for it, and while it had worn off for the most part, his anxiety levels were still through the roof. Not to mention nightmares plagued his every sleeping moment. And what would it be now? Batman? Sure! Why not! A punch in the schnoz would be like a stroll through a field of roses at this point.

Due to one of the doors laid broken on the floor, he was able to see his visitor long before he’d reached the doorway. Relief washed over him; it was just the hat guy. He was nice! Maybe he’d come here to help fix his door. He should probably remember his name before he got there.

“Heey!” Penguin approached with a friendly grin and outstretched arms. “It’s uh. Juuuuh. Jerry? Right? Come on in, the door’s open.” He sneered down at the door on the floor. _“_ **_Permanently,_ ** _thanks to that Joker jerk.”_ he muttered.

Jervis’ grin had momentarily slipped at having been called the wrong name– before quickly realizing the shorter man was merely pulling his leg, as the saying went. No, it was be _utter nonsense_ for the man to have actually forgotten his name– especially after all the time they had shared with each other in Arkham. Surely he was merely teasing him, very much in line of the way Jonathan would with him endless sarcasm.

“Now Oswald, you and I **both** know that ‘Jervis’ isn’t a hard name to remember. _No need to tease me so_.” Hatter then looked down at the door on the ground, frowning as he gingerly tried walking across it– doing his best to avoid the glass, least it break under his weight.

“Oh my, you said **Joker** did this?” Did that crazed clown not know how to knock? More like the man simply didn’t care, that seemed more in brand with the other shenanigans he heard. Jervis tutted with disapproval. “Well, we’ll need to fix that straight away, least you catch your death from the chill! You wouldn’t happen to have any tools, would you?”

This wasn’t the proper way to start a greeting, not in the slightest. But sometimes you had to go about things in the most un-orderly of ways when other matters were more pressing. Jervis parked his cooler to the side as he began bending over to pick up the door. Giving a soft grunt, it was luckily not more than he could manage.

He **_was!_ ** Hat Guy **was** here to fix his door! And he’d even brought him dinner, by the look of that cooler. Penguin was aware, of course, that there was no such thing as a free meal. This guy definitely wanted _something_. But that was fine, working with the Hatter should be a cake walk compared to working with the Joker.

“You bet! Hang on, I’ll go grab a few things.” And with that he scurried off to the side room he’d converted into a tinkering room over the years. He flicked the light on, and made his way over to the desk. Umbrellas and umbrella parts littered the room, on the floor, hanging on the walls.

“Now where did I put that– ah! There you are.” Penguin grabbed a screwdriver, and stuffed a handful of screws into his robe pocket before returning to his newly acquired handyman.

“Alright, I got the– **_WHOA what the?_ ** !” Penguin gagged, a hand flying up to shield his nose when he got a whiff of the cooler as he passed. He knew that smell. _That thing reeked of_ **_blood_ **.

“What the heck do you have **in** that thing?!” He eyed the suspicious cooler, completely forgetting to hand the tools over.

“Pardon?”

Jervis had been very focused on holding the door up, that he had nearly forgotten why he was there to begin with. It was Oswald’s suspicious glare at the container that brought the reality of the situation back, as the Englishman felt an odd sense of sheepishness come over him.

“Ah, yes, **that** . A present for your avian friends, if you think they would partake in it. We came upon an issue of **disposal** , _you see_ , and I happened to recall our very first meeting where you mentioned having been able to train your birds to… _um_ .” Jervis couldn’t think of a polite way to phrase ‘eat the evidence’, so instead tried his best to move on. “ _In any case_ , we can discuss it all **afterwards** . Now, _screwdriver?_ ”

Jervis’ words knocked around in Oswald’s mind for a while before they clicked, and he slightly paled. “ **Oh.”** He swallowed and looked up into the expectant face of the Hatter. He stared hard. Was there really a cold blooded murderer behind that friendly smile? Chilling!

 _“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”_ He muttered, handing over the screwdriver and the screws. Then he went back to staring at the cooler.

“So uh… one of your girls not bringin’ in the cash, or you run into a guy who refused to pay? I mean, I’m not complaining either way; keepin’ two vultures fed isn’t easy!”

Jervis had been in the middle of screwing in the hinge back into the frame of the door, when the other villain’s words caught him off guard.

“ _Hmm?_ ‘Refusing to pay’?” It was then that the Englishman came to his own conclusions, his eyes going wide in mild alarm. Did Penguin actually think Hatter would off people during a bank heist gone wrong? Perish the thought! “Oh no! Nothing as **ghastly** as all that!”

Jervis turned back to the door, working on setting in the second screw as he tried to explain the situation as _delicately_ as he could.

“I’m sure you’ve had many a stay in Arkham during your career, have you ever heard any stories about the man who used to be head of security there? A Mr. Lyle Bolton?”

“Lyle Bolton? Oh yeah, **that** guy _…_ ” A smile spread across Penguin’s face as he remembered what he’d heard about him. Lyle had been employed there and fired long before Penguin was first sent to Arkham. And even though he was apparently incarcerated there while Penguin was, he’d rarely ever seen him.

“I heard he was so brutal, he even had that Scarecrow guy shakin’ in his burlap.” He punctuated this with a short squawking laugh. He kind of would have liked to have seen that. Not that he usually cared about the Scarecrow in the slightest, he just happened to have a mild vendetta against the guy lately.

“That guy is… er, _was_ , **huge** ! How the heck did you fit all **_that_ ** into _one cooler_? Are my vultures gonna need straws?” His smile was gone. That wasn’t a pleasant mental image.

The Englishman had finished with the top hinge, and was on a knee as he took care of the bottom portion of the door. Jervis momentarily stopped at the mention of his partner, and frowned at the thought of turning Jonathan’s plight into a laughing matter.

“Yes, well. I recently experienced his cruelty first hand, as well as heard other troubling accounts.” He sighed going back to finishing up the task at hand. “As for what remains of said remains, _aha_ , well… _Jonathan_ was kind enough to strip the brute clean, as it were.” And thank goodness for **that!** “I do so hope your birds like their fillets. It was the only way we could think to serve him.”

And with a final twist of the wrist, the hinge was fastened to the frame. Pulling himself off the floor, Jervis tested the sturdiness as he opened and closed it a few times.

“Ah! I think we have it! Nothing to fret about **now.** ”

It was with a gentle close of the door that everything snap into place– finally keeping out the winter chill. And it was with that, Jervis began stripping himself of his coat and scarf. He couldn’t help the sense of satisfaction that washed over him from his own handiwork. Maybe he could give the Walrus’ dear friend a run for his money with carpentry after all!

All thoughts of the recently deceased were instantly forgotten as Penguin admired his guest’s work. Just like that, fixed. Admittedly, had Penguin been able to reach the top hinges, he probably could have just fixed it himself. But his mind had instantly just labeled the doors as “broken” and accepted it. He wondered what else he could get the Hatter to fix. This place had definitely seen better days.

“Nice **_work!”_ **Penguin beamed. “Thanks, pal. I shoulda called you over sooner.” His smile faltered when he caught a whiff of the cooler again.

“ _Phew._ Let me get this out to the aviary before it starts stinkin’ up the place.” He grabbed the handle and began shuffling backwards, dragging it across the floor.

“I’d offer you somethin’ to drink, but all I got is wine, and you don’t seem like the drinkin’ type.” He paused, and frowned down at the cooler. “ _Then again, you didn’t seem like the, off a guy and stick ‘im in a cooler type, either.”_

As amusing as the Mad Hatter found the idea of being offered wine, all Carroll related nonsense aside, it wasn’t one of his preferred beverages. Jervis decided to attempt to meet the man halfway, and come up with his own solution.

“Would you mind if I took a gander through your kitchen cabinets? One can be surprised by the sort of things we forget we store in them.”

The Englishman chose not to voice the notion that perhaps Oswald hadn’t been tall enough to thoroughly search them. It wasn’t polite to give personal remarks, after all. Besides, what proper home didn’t have tea?

“Uh… yeah sure, knock yourself out.” A weird request from a weird man, but also a man who apparently wasn’t against making anyone who didn’t go along with what he wanted, _disappear,_ so who was Oswald to deny him?

“Kitchen’s through there, watch the broken glass.” He nodded his head toward the doorway to the kitchen and continued on his way to the aviary.

“Thank you,” Jervis said in reply, tipping his white hat before following the homeowner’s directions. Once alone, and able to start taking in the details of the place, the Englishman couldn’t help but feel saddened by the state of everything. The manor still had much of its original beauty in the architecture– the high ceilings being especially captivating– yet… here and there were portions missing, no doubt from fights having broken out in the place. Not to mention all the rubbish and debris lying about. Now, Jervis wasn’t one to judge… but it was certain that the Cobblepot home needed a happy helping of tender loving care.

However, that was not the task at hand. Nor could it be, when Hatter was nowhere near dressed for such a daunting project. And so it was with a silent sigh, that he pressed on.

The kitchen had been at the end of the hall, and Oswald had been right to warn him about the glass– as the room was littered with it. The floor crunched with every other step, and yet again Jervis couldn’t help the pity he felt. WELL, no matter. He will at least do his best to bring some cheer to his companion while he was there. It was with a sense of joy that the Englishman noticed an old metal kettle near the sink, as his steps became more focused and he made a beeline towards it. A quick rinse, filling it up, and placing it onto the gas stove– Jervis prayed that the kettle would be a sign that tea would be found.

A deity must have been smiling upon him, as searching the pantry found just what he was looking for. A box of black tea would be just the thing for the afternoon. Sugar was found– another small miracle– and Jervis practically waltzed himself around the room with it. While not being able to spot any china, the few wine glasses still in tack in the sink would simply have to do. Another rinse, bags in place, it was with a merry whistle that the kettle sung its beautiful tune.

Proper drinks prepared and in hand, Tetch made his way out of the kitchen to find the aviary. Luckily for him, the sounds of squawking was enough to lead the Englishman through the manor and to his destination.

Jervis couldn’t help but be amazed by the mere size of the place, even as he approached Oswald and his pets.

“ _My word_ , you could house a family in this room alone.”

Oswald gave a cursory glance back and grinned. “And I **_do!”_ ** He gestured widely up to the many hanging cages that housed birds of all shapes and sizes. Most of them seemed to be ravens, but a few owls and two very large vultures were among them, as well.

He opened the cooler lid and kicked it over. Its contents spilled out all over the ground, and now he had every bird’s attention. Next he clicked a button on his umbrella, and suddenly flood lights lit up the cages and the branches of the gnarled old tree… and then every cage door swung open.

“Dinner’s something **special** _tonight_ , my pretties.” A flurry of flapping and squawking filled the place as every bird shot from its confinement.

 **_“Meet the family!”_ **Oswald shouted over the deafening commotion, as the growing cloud of birds circled above and then turned sharply, heading right toward them.

Jervis couldn’t help but think of Alfred Hitchcock, fully understanding the notion of finding horror once faced with a flock of fowls swooping. He couldn’t help but flinch, drawing his arms to his face as he waited for an attack that never came. The sounds of claws and talons on the hard floor was enough to indicate that the creatures found the prospects of lunch much more appealing than **him** , and it was with this thought that Jervis began to relax. He sighed.

“Quite a full household you have,” he decided then to hand over the tea he made for the other rogue, more so to distract himself from the unsightly scene of the birds rapturously feasting on what used to be a person. “I can’t even **begin** to imagine the work you must go through to keep them happy and healthy. Very commendable.”

“Huh.” Oswald blinked down at his glass in wonder. There was tea in the manor and he had no idea. He wondered what other treasures might be hiding. Maybe something even more valuable than tea…? Hm.

“Anywho, those guys’ll be busy for a while.” He waved a hand in the birds’ general direction. “Why don’t we sit by the fire and, _have a chat.”_ He turned and started back toward the door. He really did hope Jervis would stay for a while. Not only because it was lonely in this place, but also because the guy was suddenly a lot more interesting… and seemed a lot more useful to have on his side.

“That sounds lovely, actually.”

And much more preferred than trying to converse while flesh was being torn asunder– though naturally this thought wasn’t said aloud. So it was with one last look at the birds that Jervis followed suit.

The sitting room was large, just like most rooms in the Cobblepot Manor. The fireplace was roaring, filling the space with warmth and a soft glow of orange hues. Oswald went straight towards his armchair near the fire, plopping down like a man full of endless swagger. The Englishman, however, found his gaze stolen by the family portrait hanging over the hearth. A younger aloof looking Oswald was staring back at him, yet, more importantly, Hatter noted that the faces of his parents had been torn and shred. It left Jervis awfully curious, as well as a sense of melancholy hitting him once more as he couldn’t help but feel the vandalism had a deeper meaning to it.

In the end, etiquette kept him from directly inquiring about it, as he instead chose to voice a more polite thought.

“My, what a handsome young man you were.” He turned away from the portrait, smiling down at his friend in his seat. “Though, I suppose not much has changed. Thank you for opening your home to me, _I’m honored_.”

Oswald beamed at the compliment. Yet another reason he liked this guy; he was full of ‘em!

“Hey, we’re _pals!_ What’s yours is mine, and all that. So! How’s life outside of Arkham been treatin’ ya? _Pick up any new ladies for your squad_?”

He’d need to breach the subject of getting a friendship discount on one of his ladies one day. But maybe not just yet.

 _Ladies?_ What in heaven’s name could the man be referring to? It was then that Hatter remembered his first conversation with the man, and how he had gone on and on about Ms. Pleasance! Oh dear, how **embarrassing** to look back on how singularly focused he had been on the woman. No **wonder** Oswald seemed to think he was on the prowl, as it were!

No, Jervis would just have to set the man straight on the matter– least he get the wrong idea about him!

“Ah, things have been simply frabjuous! More so than the last time we last saw each other. _Which I must apologize for being the mimsiest of company._ It was very **kind** of you to help break up the hospital’s mundania with conversations, even if I hadn’t the wits about me to be more than an ear.” The Englishman allowed his tea a quick swirl in his glass, more so for the distraction as he went on. “But, as I said, things have been looking up for me. You… haven’t been keeping up with the news at all, have you?”

While he wouldn’t like his friend to have believed the _dreadful rumors_ from the tabloids, it certainly would be far quicker of a tale if he had at least known something about it.

“The **_news?_ ** ” Oswald’s gaze drifted momentarily over to what used to be his television. It now sat very broken after he’d gotten so upset over seeing Bruce Wayne get commemorated for yet another thing that should have been **his**. He’d hurled a steel statue right through the screen.

“You made **_the news_ ** and you say things are _lookin’ up?_ What’d you **_do?”_ **

For the criminals of Gotham, being on the news was never a good thing. It usually meant you were just sent back to prison.

Jervis couldn’t help but laugh some at the other rogue’s reaction. He made a fair point, though he was sure the likes of Edward would argue that there was no such thing as **bad** publicity.

“It’s all rather _silly_ , if I’m to be perfectly honest. Not something I’m ashamed of, mind you, merely not a bit of gossip I’m used to having announced to the world.”

At this Jervis shook his head, as he stared into his tea. His smile greeted him back in the amber hues of his drink. Mirth turned to fondness as Tetch realized this would be the first conversation he had where he actually got to reveal the event, rather than have everyone around him simply _know_.

“I’ve recently become **attached** , as it were, and GNN happened to catch wind of it. You remember Dr. Crane, don’t you? It was thanks to **his** help that you and half of Arkham escaped, after all.”

Oswald stared at him blankly for a minute while he did he best to remember. Eventually, realization lit up his face.

“ _Oh yeah,_ you mean that cranky old guy who goes around callin’ everyone fools and morons.” He grinned wide and gave Jervis a sly look. _“Did he set you up with a sexy young chickadee?_ That explains the **_smile.”_ **

_Old?_ Jervis was most certain that Oswald was near his own age, which in itself was merely a year younger than Jonathan’s. The idea of himself being considered such was a mid-life crisis he would need to save for another time. Instead, the Englishman did his best to clear the air– though he had to admit, he was beginning to feel a bit of an awkward tension from having to elaborate so much.

“I believe **he** would be the chickadee?” Not that Jonathan would be happy being referred to as such, he mused silently. “In any case, he and I have gotten close over the past half-year. It was only last month we came to realize that our feelings ran deeper than companionship, and thus we… made it official. _Partners in crime_ , I suppose you could say.”

The sly smile that Oswald had been sporting had slipped more and more the longer Jervis went on. By now, his frown was comically deep, his eyes wide as he stared. He did not want to know how they had, “ _made it official_ ”. In fact, his imagination had made him feel suddenly ill.

“Uh. Congratulations.” He croaked, upending his wine glass, coughing slightly when he realized for the second time it had not held wine. Oswald slipped out of his chair and waddled over to the hearth, reaching up to grab the wine bottle that sat atop it. He looked at his wine glass for a moment, considering, before setting the glass on the hearth and taking the entire bottle back to the chair with him. He took a long swig and was ready to start talking again.

“So, where you two lovebirds shacked up? Someplace _warm_ , I hope?” He frowned again when it dawned on him they’d be keeping **each other** warm. _Guuh!_ He wished his brain would stop **doing** that!

The initial reaction had been troubling. One usually didn’t frown after hearing about another person’s engagements, after all. Nor was he sure that ‘hitting the bottle’, as it were, was a positive sign. Jervis had watched this whole exchange with a troubling frown twisting his own visage, but that was quick to wipe away at Oswald’s far friendlier inquiry.

“ _Quite warm_ , actually. Our new home is far more insulated than our last. With running water on the inside!” Hatter was more than grateful for the shower, as having to resort to the equivalent of a sponge bath had been nearly dreadful. Or at the very least time consuming. “We found an old factory on Maple Drive. It took a bit of time to move in, we couldn’t take most of the furnishings, _unfortunately_. But those are being replaced with time. Jonathan’s chemistry set and books held much more stock.”

Jervis hummed softly to himself, locking eyes with Oswald as he went on– not able to conceal his emotions.

“If I’m perfectly honest, I’ve found myself all atwitter from the change. A good sort of excitement, _mind you_ ; yet, just a year ago I was **miserable** . Working a soulless job, unrequited affections for a woman who’s heart belonged to another. **Now** look at me– a member of the most seedy sorts of the city, but happily in love! ‘ _Only in America_ ’, a very fitting sentiment for such drastic shifts in lifestyles.”

The Englishman laughed at this, using his free hand to cover his mirth from modesty.

“ **Oh** , but I’ve been talking about myself for far too long, my friend. _Really,_ Oswald, you should have stopped me. Please, how have things been holding up for you? You **must** have a scheme hatching– you always were clever about those sort of things.”

For once, the opportunity to talk about himself didn’t instantly distract Oswald. He was still hung up on the fact this guy was sitting here talking about how in love he was, how he and his… _partner.._ . found a cozy little place together. It all sounded so… _domestic._ Which was fine and all, but…

_This was the same guy who’d murdered a guy and stuffed him into a cooler._

“Uh, yeah. As a matter of fact, I **do** have a little something planned.” Pushing past that. Talking about himself now. A more comfortable subject. The **most** comfortable, in fact.

 _“Wayne’s_ holding a nice little fundraiser later this month. Somethin’ about orphans, or whatever, I dunno. Point is! _Ol’ Penguino’s gonna drop by and pick up an early Christmas present.”_

Catching wind of the upcoming event hadn’t been easy without a television, but he’d managed. He did use a lot of newspapers to line his bird cages, after all.

It was interesting how there was still some sort of company loyalty towards the man inside Jervis. Bruce Wayne, while he hadn’t met him on many occasions, had always been kind and listened to him. He gave him opportunities where many wouldn’t have. And for that, he’d forever be in his dept.

Of course, this wasn’t a thought the Englishman felt comfortable voicing, considering just how much he knew Cobblepot despised his former employer.

“Ah, plan on making an event of it? Fluff up your feathers, as it were?” Jervis prompted. “I imagine the money is the aim, yes? It would certainly be more than enough to keep you and your family fed.”

“No, no, no.” Oswald shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. “I’m after the big honkin’ **swan statue** Wayne’ll be showin’ off. Pure silver, _genuine sapphire eyes_ , it’s **_perfect!”_ **

His greedy grin faltered, his eyes darting over to Jervis.

“What, you think I should grab the cash, too?”

“ _‘[It’s] very easy to take_ **_more_ ** _than nothing,_ ’“ Hatter shrugged noncommittally. “Though, I suppose that’s up to your discretion on what you believe you can get away with before a **certain** Red Knight finds himself on the scene.” At this Jervis paused, smiling encouragingly. “Besides, the swan sounds like a lovely piece to be pilfered. A worthy enough prize on its own, I should say!”

Penguin’s face twisted as he sat there, thinking about it. He hadn’t considered swiping the cash, too, but…

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. The swan’s good enough for now, who needs. … The money.”

Now he really really wanted the money, too. He might have to rethink his plan later. Oswald shut his eyes tightly and shook his head to regain his focus, and clear the dancing money symbols from his mind. Besides, there was something else he wanted to make clear before Jervis left, and he’d just forget if he kept getting distracted.

“Hey uh, by the way, feel free to admire the goods all you want, but just so you know, _this bird don’t_ **_fly_ ** _that way_ , if you catch my meaning.”

He wasn’t about to give up being showered with compliments, but he didn’t want the guy thinking those compliments would get him in his pants, either. He took another swig from his bottle before adding with a smirk,

“Now don’t get me wrong; if a **woman** wants to get weird back there, I’ll be all **for** it. But I don’t know how you gay guys get off to havin’ another guy’s doodads up your. _Well you know._ ”

It took far longer for Tetch to pick up on what Cobblepot was referring to, his brow having been quirked inquisitively as he took another sip of his tea. This, unfortunately, had been a mistake as Penguin kept speaking, and his drink shot down the wrong pipe. Choking and sputtering, Jervis looked at the man across from him– the look of utter mortification clear.

“ **SIR** , I–” Hatter had to look away, his face completely flushed as he tried to figure out what of the man’s uncalled for comments he should be addressing. “I can **_assure you_** that I wouldn’t–” Oh, no, he couldn’t say ‘ _dream of it_ ’. That had unfortunate implications of insulting his friend. Oswald might have a crass streak in him, but Jervis certainly did **not**! He sighed, closing his eyes as he buried his face into a gloved hand. “Mr. Cobblepot, I can honestly say I wouldn’t wish to overstep any bounds that would make our association, _ah_ , **uncomfortable**. As a spoken for man, it would be uncouth to… _to_ _seek out such a_ ** _thing_** _._ Your **friendship** is more than enough, _truly_.”

The Englishman attempted to look back at Oswald, offering what he hoped was a reassuring look– though he couldn’t help the slight wince he gave at having made eye contact. Oh, while it was true that people have tried to make assumptions about him with people in the past… never had someone come to the conclusion that he was **flirting** with them! Even when he had tried courting Ms. Pleasance, the woman had took it as mere politeness. Though now Jervis couldn’t help but wonder if the opposite was true in this case. Was it because of his inclinations now being suspect– straying from a more familiar path? Would… _would_ **_most_ ** _people reach similar conclusions from now on?_

It was a new dread he wasn’t ready to deal with, and so he chose to think of the misunderstanding as a one time confusion.

Ah, now Hatter was embarrassed he’d been caught, poor guy. It wasn’t as if Oswald could blame him for trying, anyway.

“It’s **_fine!_ ** I **get** it. You still got my friendship, pal, no hard feelings.” The bottle was more than half gone now, and his words were beginning to slur. “Hey speakin’ of hard feelings, how do you even. With an _old_ guy? Does the equipment even work anymore. Wait. Wait.” He held out a hand in a ‘stop’ motion.

“Don’t answer that. I got enough nightmares already. _No offense._ ”

At this, Jervis couldn’t help the wide eyed expression he gave the other rogue– his mouth completely agape.

“ _How old do you think Jonathan_ **_IS_ ** _?_ ” Hatter cried out in bewilderment. “You’re acting like the man is one foot in the grave!”

This was a safer line of inquiry, and one Tetch was more willing to hear the answer to. Polite company would not permit the Englishman to even **begin** discussing the topic of Crane’s libido– _and the apparent eagerness of it_.

The alcohol was making it difficult to recognize the fact Jervis was upset, and simply assumed they were still holding up a friendly conversation.

“I know, I know, love is blind, age is just a number, but **come on** . The guy’s gotta be **at least** sixty, right? It must put a strain on your bedroom life when you gotta be careful not to throw the guy’s hip out.”

Alrighty then, it was time to put down his glass– that was the second time that afternoon Jervis nearly spilled his tea. **Heavens!** The Englishman put his drink onto the hearth alongside the other glass, taking a deep breath more so to clear his head and the unfortunate flustered feelings.

Jervis knew Americans were quite permissive, yet, this was certainly not the way he remembered Cobblepot acting towards him _before_ . His gaze fell onto the wine bottle, noticing just how much was left in it. _Oh dear,_ well, inebriation certainly explained the whole ordeal! He’d try not to hold it against the poor creature as he decided he would at least **correct** the man on one of the points he asked about.

“Ah, I’m afraid you’re **mistaken** . You’re assumptions are off by a good two decades. I can **assure you** Dr. Crane is just as young and spry as **I**.”

It was most likely for the best Hatter didn’t think about the implications of his phrasings– least he realize he was only adding fuel to Penguin’s lewd imaginings.

Oswald said nothing for a while, staring at Jervis. He squinted his eyes at him. He blinked, and then shook his head.

“Nah, I still don’t see it. That guy is **not** aging well if he’s **_your_ ** age.” He attempted to take another drink from the bottle, but frowned when he realized it was empty. He grunted as he slid out of his chair, tossing the empty bottle aside. It clattered and skidded across the floor, coming to rest near a wall. “Welp, I should go put the birds to bed.” He turned, fumbling slightly, and waving a hand back at Jervis when he’d righted himself again.

“Eh, enjoy the fire as long as y'want, I’m bushed. Tell the missus I said hi.”

Jervis was prepared to argue the case further– _‘your age’_ **indeed!** – when Penguin’s sudden throwing of the bottle was enough to cause the man to jump with fright. Hatter let out a little noise of startlement, hand covering his mouth in surprise as he just stared at where the shards remained. It was in that moment he couldn’t help but think of the wild cook from Wonderland– and her habit of throwing dishes about.

 _‘I wonder how much pepper Oswald has taken,_ ’ Jervis mused to himself, quickly pushing the absurdity aside as the homeowner was already preparing himself to leave.

“Ah, I… Thank you for the offer. But I do believe it’s time I… ‘ _return to the missus_ ’, as you have colloquially put it.” Tetch momentarily frowned at this, before changing his features to one of polite company, as he began putting on his coat to leave. “Sleep well, and I hope you’re feeling better the next time we meet.”

Jervis didn’t wait for a response, as Penguin had already left by the time he finished speaking. The Englishman sighed, his gaze falling to the fire place and the two cups of tea that still sat there.

“‘ _At any rate I’ll never go there again!’ said Alice as she picked her way through the wood.’_ ” In actuality Hatter was making his way to the door of the manor, merely reciting to himself for the comfort of it as he braced himself for the cold air outside. Jervis closed the door gently, least it fall apart again. He carried on quoting softly to himself as he made his way down the drive and back to the streets of Gotham.”‘ _It’s the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!’_ Oh my, I certainly understand Alice’s concern a little better **now** after all that…”

He **did** desire Oswald to take better care of himself, even despite what the drink caused him to say. Jervis couldn’t help but think of his partner, and the things said, as he started walking back towards home and where the man was no doubt waiting for him.

“Oh Jonathan…” He whispered to himself, face flushed from more than the chill, “that’s twice in a span of so little time that I must be reminded of our… _predicament_.”

‘Our’ of course mostly meaning his own issues with that sort of intimacy, though it did certainly concern both of them in their relationship. Jervis allowed his mind to mull on the subject, as he neared Maple Drive– and the hat factory that resided there. Jervis felt… inadequate to really solve the problem on his own– he could, without a doubt, use some outside assistance in allowing him to even begin to approach his problems. Somebody who would be kind, yet also knowledgeable enough on Jonathan to be able to give reasonable suggestions.

Jervis, of course, knew who he would need to call on… Yet, that didn’t stop the feeling of hesitance the Englishman felt all the same. Once again, Jervis was in need for Dr. Quinzel’s brand of therapy.

That however, would have to be another day, as Hatter was already upon his home. Straightening himself up, fixing his hat and everything in place to show that nothing was amiss… Jervis entered.

* * *

 

Crane stood staring at his new workspace, a hand covering his mouth as he thought. Normally he didn’t much care about how his space looked, but he had an entire room for his own now, and something inside of him urged him to make it just right.

“Something’s missing, isn’t it?” He asked to no one in particular. The bird perched on his shoulder responded just the same.

“Oh my.”

Surprise quickly turned to amusement; it seemed Nevar had picked up a few new words. “Oh my, indeed!” Jonathan chuckled. “You sound _just_ like him, won’t he be **proud.** ” he teased. The bird fluffed his feathers as if he had actually understood he was being teased.

His contemplation over his work area would have to wait; the sound of the factory doors had them both glancing back in its general direction.

“Well? Aren’t you going to go greet him?” he asked Nevar, who answered by flying off and out the work room door. Jonathan snickered and followed.

“Welcome home.” Jonathan remarked with warm fondness and more than a dash of sarcasm, upon seeing it was, indeed, Jervis. “You’re back sooner than I expected you’d be. You usually **enjoy** Oswald’s company, _though I can’t fathom_ **_why.”_ **

Jervis had only just begun removing his outerwear when he was greeted by both beast and his owner. It had only been away a couple hours at most, and yet one would have thought Tetch had been gone for days– if one were to go by Nevar’s reaction. The crow’s croaking laugh echoed throughout the factory– a sound Jervis had come to associate being the bird’s specific greeting for him. Wings flapped and fluttered, as he did excited circles around the man.

“ **Oh my** , keep that up and you’ll make me positively giddy!”

Thankfully for the Englishman, Nevar was more than content to stop his flapping about as he happily perched onto Jervis’ shoulder. He smiled warmly at the creature, as Nevar lightly preened his hair. Hatter used a free hand to pet under the bird’s beak, humming as he turned his attention to Jonathan.

“Hmm, hello love. Yes, the visit was more like an errand than a true social call. Oswald… _was a bit under the weather._ ” At this Jervis winced slightly, still very much embarrassed by the whole ordeal. Trying his best to smile despite it, Tetch did latch onto a positive about the event. “His feathered family, however, was more than grateful for our gift. It does the heart **good** to know that man at least did something of charitable worth in his passing.”

“They’re fortunate you were thinking of them. And so are we.” Yes, it had been Jervis who had suggested they dispose of the remains via Penguin’s birds. A brilliant idea, but not one Crane had wished to be there for. Oswald’s birds were, he was ashamed to admit, _terrifying._

“Poor, poor Lyle. Gone **missing** . Such a _shame_ .” There was no genuine sorrow in his voice, nor would it have matched his devious, satisfied smirk had there been. “And as for Oswald… ill already. Perhaps he should have _flown south_ for the winter. For a penguin, he certainly didn’t last long in the cold.”

“Surprisingly his place was very warm, despite the fact his door had been damaged.” Jervis at least managed a beam at the fact he had been able to assist him. “Though, that shouldn’t be a problem any longer. I set to **that**.”

Jervis made his way deeper into the lair, going towards what had become their dining room table– seeing as their home still needed new sitting room furnishings. Tetch exhaled slowly, feeling far more drained from the previous company than he had previously let on. Nevar squawked, hopping from the man’s shoulder onto the table, turning his head as he peered up at Jervis. The Englishman found some amusement from this, his finger lazily scratching the exposed neck– as he decided to be honest about the exchange that had taken place.

“By ill, I didn’t quite mean his **constitution**. I’m afraid I caught Oswald during a fit of insobriety, and in turn the conversation suffered from a _muchness_ I wasn’t prepared for.” Nor would he ever be, though Jervis kept his conservative viewpoint to himself. He looked up at Jonathan, still slumped slightly at the table– his mood affecting his table manners. “I passed along the good news of our relationship. Oswald was supportive, if maybe too… **curious** _,_ _I suppose_. I believe I also became a bit too informed about matters I had _no need of ever learning about._ ”

It was then another memory struck him, one that made him visibly pout.

“The man is **also** convinced we’re far older than we are. I was not prepared to have to explain that he needn’t worry about your health, I’ll tell you **that** much!”

Crane had been filled with endless amusement and satisfaction over hearing that Jervis had finally seen Cobblepot for the disgusting cretin he truly was. That was, until the subject of their age came up, and Jervis’ mood seemed to instantly drop. His smirk was suddenly gone.

“My _health?_ ” He pulled out a chair and sat across from his partner. “What does my **health** have to do with anything? _Sure I could use more sleep perhaps,_ but I’m not **_ill.”_ **

He paused and his frown grew deeper. Actually, maybe he did look sick to a guy as… well fed as Penguin.

“You don’t look _old,_ Jervis. Cobblepot is simply… a moron.” There was really no need to sugarcoat the obvious.

Jervis smiled warmly at his Hare, lightly patting Jonathan’s hand on the table.

“Now now, no need for that. I won’t fault the man for having a bad day.” Jervis stopped his patting to gently allow his thumb to trail back and forth on the back of Crane’s hand. “ _Nevertheless,_ thank you. Neither do I think of you as double your age– it’s rather **hard** to hide your _mischievous and boyish charms_ when you’re set on your endless teasing.”

All good humor slipped away as he carried on, addressing the heart of the matter– taking his hand back as he used it to prop of his head.

“ **Unfortunately,** he wasn’t exactly referring to **your** health, either. Penguin seemed to think… _he was_ **_inquiring_ ** _about the nature of…_ ” Oh… oh he couldn’t even say it! His face was quickly becoming beat red, as he had to look away from Jonathan’s gaze. “In any case! It was not **proper** , and I’m continuously baffled by how you Americans seem to **obsess** over the most perverse of conversations! One can’t even enjoy the cinemas these days without being caught unaware of characters having its audience intrude on their _private affairs_!”

This was quickly becoming the Mad Hatter ranting. Something he had thought about on many occasions, especially before his first incarceration when he had the _pleasure_ of being another civilian. Advertisements, movies, passing by conversations in the supermarket– _the world was much too fraught of salaciousness for Jervis’ to handle_!

Ah. Jonathan’s frown remained, despite appreciating seeing Jervis flush like that. Seeing this man flustered was usually one of Jonathan’s favorite things, but he was unable to enjoy it now.

“I see. It seems **everyone** is morbidly obsessed with our _private life_ of late. If sex is **really** all people assume a relationship is about, _I worry for the_ ** _future_** _of mankind.”_

His hands had balled into fists atop the table as he joined in Jervis ranting, everyone’s apparent fascination with their private life causing his anger to rise. While Jonathan’s more perverse urges _had_ been in overdrive since developing feelings for Jervis, he was no longer in any hurry for things to go any further. Scarecrow had, oh-so-kindly, reminded him that others seeing him nude was a nightmare he was completely fine with putting off until the end of time.

Jervis was very obviously not in the mood to talk about this kind of thing, and for once, Jonathan shared this sentiment. He pushed himself away from the table and stood.

“I’ll put the tea on, you look cold.”

“Oh!” The Englishman was caught off guard by the suddenness of the offer, but found himself pleased all the same. “Just a bit of a chill, yes. But I would greatly appreciate the offer.”

Jervis chose to not voice the fact he hadn’t been able to finish his last cup, for obvious reasons of the topic of the chat having left a bad taste in his mouth. Instead, he found himself distracted as he suddenly heard a loud croak next to him.

“Oh my! Oh. **My!** ”

“ **Heavens!** _You nearly frightened me to death, you wicked little thing!_ ” Tetch’s words may have been harsh, but he punctuated it with a laugh of his own as he went back to showering the crow with affection. “Such a **talented** beast you are, Nevar. Though I must admit I don’t fancy your habit of startling me. You’re picking up too many nasty tricks from your master. _A terrible influence,_ I’m afraid.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Crane’s mouth as he put the pot to boil, listening to Jervis converse with the bird.

“He’s learning **my** mannerisms, and **_your_ ** vocabulary.” Jonathan sighed dramatically and turned around to fold his arms and lean up against the table that held their portable stove. _“They grow up so fast.”_

“You know, “ Jervis began, looking over at his partner by the stove, “I never did think to wonder about his origins. Or how you came upon Nevar at all. Did you _actually_ raise him?”

At this Crane shrugged.

“ _More or less._ Crows, as you can see, are social creatures. The fact he was alone most likely means something happened to his… **murder** .” Ah, fitting considering that was most likely what happened to them. “He was a pathetic looking thing, and I suppose I found **pity** for him. _Though I still don’t know why._ ”

At this the professor paused, looking at both bird and man as it seemed he had their undivided attentions.

“You can’t **possibly** want me to reminiscence about this– it’s not all **that** interesting.”

“ _Pish posh_ ,” Jervis argued, “ you act like I’m never enthralled by your stories. I **may** even enjoy them more than Dormy’s, though I’d prefer he never know– _it would break his poor heart._ ” Whether he was referring to the Riddler or the actual character didn’t at all matter. The Englishman went on. “Besides… we need something to fill up the time while the kettle boils. Now, _come come_ , **do** go on.”

Jonathan shook his head, but otherwise did what was ordered from him. Remaining in place by the stove, Crane began where all stories should: at the beginning.

“ _Well… I suppose it all started a couple years ago, back when I was still living in one of Gotham’s abandoned family cemeteries…_ ”


	25. Exposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jervis seeks the help from the likes of Harley and Ivy. It's certainly a therapy session the Englishman isn't going to forget anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Awkward sex talk, though not too explicit. Needles. And I believe that's it.

It was such a rare occurrence for Pamela’s phone to ring, it caused her to jump the night it did. She gave her number out to so few, and it was most likely a telemarketer. Ivy picked up the phone, ready and willing to threaten them into never calling her again.

“This number is unlisted for a **reason** , scumbag, I’m not–”

“Pamela?”

Well, that was a surprise.

 _“Professor Crane?_ Huh…. How’s _things?_ ”

“Fine, just fine. Is… Harleen staying with you still?”

“She is. She’s not here at the moment, but she will be. Aw, don’t tell me you just called here looking for her.” She was teasing, of course, but his reply was yet another surprise.

“Actually, no, if we want to get technical about it, I called to speak with _you_ . It is **your** house, after all.”

“Oh?” Pam raised a brow, despite Crane not being able to see her.

“Would it be alright if Jervis visited for a few hours this Saturday evening? Will Harleen be there, do you think? He needs to speak with her.”

Ivy could feel the puzzlement on her face. What an odd request.

“Yes, she should be here. Just Jervis, then?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Why didn’t _he_ call me, instead?” There was a short pause on the other end of the line.

“I believe you _intimidate_ him, Dr. Isley. He asked _me_ to make the call.”

Ivy couldn’t help the smile that had elicited. “Oh, good. Any reason you won’t be joining him, Professor?”

“I feel this is a _private_ matter. He’s been acting… _out of sorts_ lately, and Harleen is the closest we have to a trusted psychiatrist. So I ask no questions. I have faith she will be able to help him with whatever he’s struggling with. She’s… helped him before when I’ve been unable to.”

Crane had done well to mask the hurt in his voice, but Ivy had still managed to pick up on it. She supposed she could understand the feeling of not being able to provide for the ones you care about. And yet he was still being supportive about finding him someone who could. Maybe if **straight** men were that caring, she wouldn’t have given up on them.

“Alright. I guess we’ll see him Saturday, then. Oh, and Professor?”

“Hm?”

 _“Tell Jervis to make sure and bring protection._ ” There was silence on the other end of the line again, and Ivy smirked. The silence continued and she frowned. “I **mean** _tell him to bring a gas mask_ , geez. He’ll die of poisoning without it.”

“Oh. Yes, of course, he has one of those. I’ll do that. Thank you, Pam.”

“Any time, John.”

“… … Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call me Pam.”

“… Noted.”

* * *

 

That had been two days ago, and Saturday had arrived. Her and Harley were sitting on the couch watching television while they waited for their guest to show up.

It was with the ringing of the doorbell that both Harley and her hyenas perked up. The blonde woman gasped in excitement– as she unwrapped herself from around her BFF, springing from the couch.

“He’s here!” Harley and her pets made a dash for the door, the woman only stopping halfway through as she turned back to Ivy. “C’mon, ya slow poke, donctha know it’s rude t’keep people waitin’!”

She, herself, didn’t wait much longer than that, as she opened wide the front door– visibly startling the man that waited there, even despite his face being covered by his golden gas mask.

“Oh! Dr. Quinzel, good evening.” Jervis didn’t get to say much more, as he was suddenly tackled to the ground by the wild animals the crazed clown kept for company. Luckily for him they seemed much more keen on licking him, laughing all the while as the Mad Hatter flailed his limbs wildly.

Harley, meanwhile, beamed at the exchange.

“D’aww, they like ya, Jerv!”

Jervis, meanwhile, tried to right himself– not being used to such rough attention.

“While I appreciate the gesture– **_HEAVENS_ ** _, not there!_ ” Bud had taken the time to lick the Englishman’s ear, causing the man to fret all the more. “Harleen, **PLEASE!** ”

“ _Uh oh, first name’s comin’ out._ Alright boys, **back off** . Give the guy some room t’breathe, why dontcha!” The woman pulled back the hyenas by their collars, allowing Jervis the opportunity to get back his footing. She smiled up into Hatter’s goggles, amused by seeing her own reflection as she went on. “Come inside, Jerv. No need to stand out in the cold– it’s **FREEZING** out here!”

“Indeed.” Jervis replied, straightening up his jacket as he followed both woman and pets inside. Seeing Ivy waiting in the foyer, arms crossed but otherwise in pleasant enough spirits, Tetch removed his hat as he greeted the homeowner. “And good evening to you, Dr. Isley. Thank you for allowing me to arrive on such short notice.”

Ivy was smiling, but it couldn’t be helped; seeing Jervis in that ridiculous mask was hilarious. “No big deal. It isn’t like I make **_plans_ **this time of year.”

The cold slowed her inner workings into a strange, hibernating-like state, due to her being mostly plant now. Leaving her heated home during the winter was a death sentence.

She made no attempt to move to greet him, nor to leave the room. She’d vacate if asked to, but she really didn’t want to miss this conversation if she didn’t have to. Besides… she still didn’t trust this guy completely. Not that she thought he’d stand a chance against Harley **and** two angry hyenas, _but still._

At her comment Jervis frowned, it didn’t take much mental strain to figure out the reason why the woman didn’t leave her home.

“Ah, yes… _Do_ feel free to call upon Jonathan and I if you happen to need errands done. Gotham’s weather isn’t much different from England’s, so I don’t mind it **quite** as much.”

Ivy didn’t get a chance to respond, as Harley interrupted the exchange by wrapping an arm around the man– dragging him deeper into the home.

“Hey! What am I, _chopped liver_ ? Red’s got **me** , don’t she? I can do all the things! **All of ‘em!** ” It seemed Jervis was being dragged towards the kitchen, most likely because there were more seats available than the cramp comfort of the sitting room. The blonde woman went on. “Now ‘nough worryin’ ‘bout her, and tell me about _choo_. Red said y’got Professah Crane t’call? Somethin’ ‘bout needin’ t’talk?”

Arm finally free, Tetch allowed himself to remove his jacket– placing it on the back of a chair before taking a seat.

“Yes. It’s… rather **personal** in nature.” He found himself pausing, more so from his own hesitancy of discussing the nature of the topic at all. The ex-psychiatrist seemed to pick up on this, her beam slipping as she tried her best to see through the goggles of the mask to pick up on any additional cues.

“Well, gee, Jerv…. Not that I don’t mind helpin’ a pal out, but why didn’tcha just say something t’ Crane about it? He taught me everythin’ I know.”

At this Jervis wavered again, fiddling with his hands on the kitchen table.

“ _Ah_ , well, it’s… It’s rather hard to discuss this matter with Jonathan. As it… **pertains** to him, to a certain extent. Or, well, truthfully, _to be more precise_ , it pertains to the nature of our… **relationship**.”

Ivy had followed behind, stopping in the doorway as the two conversed. At the mention of their relationship, however, she joined them, pulling out a seat and sitting down. This was gossip she _definitely_ didn’t want to miss. She leaned forward over the table, head resting in her hand.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re _having second thoughts_ **_already._ **..?”

“Nono, of course **not** !” At this Jervis found his hand landing on his chest in defense, shocked by the mere idea of it. “No, quite the opposite. I… wish to **further** the relationship.”

“Further?” Harley tilted her head, genuinely confused. “…Like marriage? OH! Wait! Is this one of those old fashioned traditions where y’ask family for their hand in marriage? Am I supposed t’be doin’ that now?” Harley went to grab for the Englishman’s hand, startling him. “Jervis Tetch… I now pronounce ya husband and wife!”

“Harleen, _be reasonable_ .” Jervis scolded. “This is hard enough on me as it is. I… I would appreciate something a **bit** more _genuine_.”

“Alright alright.” At this Harley freed the man’s hand. “So, what **do** you mean? You guys already live together, you’re dating, _so….?_ ”

Ivy wasn’t nearly as lost as Harley seemed to be. The urge to snicker was tough to fight, but she managed. She could and would be mature about this.

“You two haven’t. Oh I see. Are you having difficulty figuring out how two men make love, Jervis?” If that was the case, she really didn’t understand why he thought he needed to seek out a psychiatrist for help. Or why he thought a woman would be able to walk him through the process. She was sure he could have found a book or video on the subject instead.

“I…” It was probably for the best Hatter’s face was hidden, as he was already growing flushed. “It’s… a  **bit**  more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”

Harley, who already was going slightly uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading– as it involved somebody she considered herself  _very close to_ – laughed awkwardly.

“O-oh? You’re not having trouble keepin’ it  **up** , are ya?” At this she frowned, as her mind led to even more troubling places. “Wait, or is  **Crane**  the one with troubles here? Ya know, they got a blue pill for that, dont’cha?”

“ **Madame!**  Why in the world do people keep presuming we’re falling apart from age?!” At this Jervis found himself standing up. “Nono, this was a **mistake**. _I should have realized…_ “

Harley watched the scene with alarm, wondering what could be causing the man to be so scared about this? (For clearly there was some strong anxieties going on here.) It was with wide eyes that everything clicked into place, as she looked at the older man as if he had grown a second head.

“Wait… are you a  **virgin**?!”

The sudden flinch Jervis gave at the mere mention of the word was enough proof. Tetch remained standing there, awkwardly silent, before resting his arms across his chest. He gave an indignant huff. 

“Well, if you  **MUST**  know… I was raised upon certain beliefs that one must wait until marriage before engaging in anything of  **that**  sort– and seeing as I am, pardon,  _was_  a bachelor…” Jervis found himself deflating, sinking back into his chair all the while. “I must admit, this was not something I considered when entering a relationship with Jonathan. The… the idea that he might  **wish** … That he might  **want**  from me…”

Yet again the man found himself in a state where he couldn’t continue speaking, shame and embarrassment becoming too much for him. 

Pamela’s amusement had quickly turned to genuine concern. Jervis was obviously feeling pressured into doing things he wasn’t ready to do, and she would not have it… despite it seeming like some twisted form of deserved karma on some level.

“Honey. _Listen to me.”_ She attempted to make eye contact, but failed due to his averted gaze and the mask. She continued on anyway. “You **_do not_ ** need to do anything you’re not ready for. Don’t let him pressure you into anything too soon. He hasn’t… _forced himself on you_ , has he? Do you need me to talk to him?”

At this Jervis’ head snapped towards her, his breathing harsh as he tried and failed to quickly gasp for air.

“N-no! Nothing like that, doctor! He’s been perfectly kind and understanding. I wouldn’t even had known this was an issue if it weren’t for the fact it was brought up while he was under hypnosis!”

“You can **hypnotize** people?!” It was Harley’s turn to jump back into the conversation. All sense of childish wonder instantly vanished as a glare came upon her face. “ _Waaaait a minute_ , whaddya **mean** y’hypnotized Professah Crane?!”

“Now now,” Jervis put up his hands in defense, even if he perfectly understood why the woman would be worried about her mentor. “He **consented** to the exercise. Although, admittedly… when I asked about what his feelings were for me… I was expecting it to be more… ah, _floral in nature_.”

“…So you asked a guy who was forced t’tell the truth t’talk about his feelings… and you were **surprised** he mentioned that he was horny fer ya?” The inquisitive expression Harley wore instantly turned to a frown. “Ew, yeah, _I didn’t need t’say that._ **Double ew!** ”

“That… that is the essence of what happened, _yes_ .” At this the Englishman’s demeanor grew more demure. “It isn’t a situation of finding the idea **unflattering** , mind you. The problem is that… I don’t have any sort of **experience** of dealing with matters like this. Of where to even begin in… in **awaking** that sort of passion to give to him.”

At this the blonde woman have him a funny look.

“C’mon, Jerv. You can’t tell me you’ve never even **peaked** at a dirty magazine before.” Her smile slipped once more as she yet again received silence. “… Oh my god. Y’mean you never… _you know…_ ”

Tetch drew his hands closer to himself, intently staring at his own thumbs.

“…Have I mentioned I was raised in a strictly **religious** household? Of course one learned about simple matters of procreation– _the education system provided that well enough._ But it was… _deeply discouraged_ to take upon oneself with baser urges. Thus… I didn’t. **I haven’t.** ”

At this Harley stared.

“You… You’re like some sort of pure baby man! _Oh my god_ , no wonder y’snapped– ye got repression out the **wazoo!** ”

Harley’s astonishment was shared by Ivy. She, too, was staring at him in wonderment, but this stare was quickly sharpened into a glare. It wasn’t directed at Jervis. She huffed, abruptly sitting back against her chair, and folding her arms.

“ **All** of those men, telling me it was **_unhealthy_ ** to go too long without relieving themselves, that it would _harm them_ if they didn’t do it regularly. I **knew** they were full of _bullshit_ ! **_You’re_ ** living proof! Thirty-five years and you’re **fine** . Are all men just **_inherently liars_ **?”

Her temper fizzled out as she realized this had nothing to do with why Jervis was here. She unfolded her arms and cleared her throat.

“I mean. Yes, I can see why that might become a problem in your relationship. Have you considered watching a porno or two for… inspiration?”

Tetch chose not to correct the woman on the incorrect age– as that had been the kindest estimate he’d been given as of late. He felt his heart skip a beat in alarm, however, at the suggestion she gave.

“Watch a– oh, I couldn’t POSSIBLY!” He was struggling to get through the conversation– how was Jervis supposed to get through any sort of film of lewd nature without dying on the spot from pure mortification? “That… that would be too much, I believe.” The man concluded.

It was then that Harley perked up in her seat, as inspiration came to her.

“LIGHTBULB!” And it was with this that Harley ran out of the room– charging as her pets followed after her, laughing all the while.

“ _….Lightbulb?_ ” Jervis asked curiously, watching the entrance where the young woman had ran from. Hatter sighed, his attention falling back on Ivy with good enough humor. “However are you able to handle her abundance of energy? Surely she must wear herself out, _eventually_?”

“Yeah, _eventually.”_ Ivy gave a small smile and shrug, glancing over to the doorway, herself. “She fights it, though. She’ll stay awake until five in the morning, talking about anything and everything, just to avoid it.” She sighed.

“Not that I mind. She fills the quiet, y'know? I love my plants, but they’re not much for conversation.”

She wasn’t looking forward to the day Harley was called back to her master to do more of his bidding. Her gaze wandered back to Jervis and she had to fight back another snicker. _That mask._

“It’s a little _late,_ but would you **like** an antidote shot so you can take off that silly mask?” She figured it was a safe bet by now that Jervis wouldn’t be a threat. In a relationship with a man, **and** terrified of sex. Harmless as a puppy. Nearly. But she didn’t need _poison_ to incapacitate him if need be, anyway.

Jervis had found himself captivated by the softness Ivy exuded at simply talking about her friend. Not that he was at all surprised, he had his suspicions about the nature of her feelings towards Harley for some time. Not that it was his business to ask about it– the Englishman was well aware of the melancholic heaviness that could grip ones heart when unrequited love was involved.

Instead, he chose to smile– despite the fact the homeowner couldn’t see it.

“That would be most welcoming. While I prefer not breathing in toxins, I must admit… I don’t relish the tingle it gives my face after a while.”

However Jonathan managed to put up with his mask for so long, one would never know.

Ivy stood and made her way over to the cabinet. The plant sitting atop it lifted its head to nuzzle against her outstretched palm as the pet it.

“It’s alright, it’s just me.” She bent to open the cabinet, taking out a plastic case, along with a bag. She tucked the case under her arm, and pulled out something lumpy and brown from the bag. The plant was truly animated now, its petals opening to reveal rows and rows of tiny teeth.

“There’s a good girl.” She dropped the treat into the thing’s gaping maw and the petals snapped shut. Satisfied, she replaced the bag back into the cabinet, then returned to the table. She set the case on it and opened it, taking out a syringe and a vial.

“Roll up your sleeve, please. This might pinch… _just promise not to_ **_bite_ ** _like the hyenas tried to.”_

Jervis felt inclined to reference a few different Wonderland creatures that had a nasty habit of biting– but felt it was a bit uncalled for with the current situation.

“Wouldn’t dream of it… I don’t know where you’ve **been** , _no offense meant_.” He responded cheekily, hoping she would see it as the humor he intended. And with that the Englishman complied– unbuttoning his right sleeve. With a flick of his wrist, he rolled up his attire– exposing his arm for the doctor to do her work.

“There… aren’t any side effects I should worry about, are there?” Hatter asked cautiously, not helping but think about how one should at least have **some** sort of awareness before putting a substance into their body– _lest it be marked_ **_poison_ **.

“ _Harley_ was fine.” Ivy shrugged. She took hold of Jervis’ arm to steady it and inserted the needle without another warning. She was glad he’d fought her a lot less than Harley had.

“Remember, **good** boys get _lollipops._ ”

Wincing, Jervis had focused on watching the green tinted liquid get pushed through the syringe. Ivy had been correct when she assured him of pain, as he felt his arm stinging even after the needle was removed from his person. Lightly rubbing his arm with a slight pout as the doctor went to put away her things, Tetch dared to remove his mask. It was after having done so that Jervis was genuinely surprised when Ivy returned. There, held out to him, was an actual lollipop.

“ **OH!** I… I had assumed…” Awkwardly taking the treat offered to him, the Englishman looked between Dr. Isley and the candy before settling on the only proper response. “Yes, well, um… _thank you._ ”

And it was with that the Englishman popped it into his mouth– hard candies may not have been his preferred confection; yet, even Jervis had to agree the orange flavor was pleasant. It was in this moment that Harley found herself returning to the kitchen, book in hand, as she excitedly shouted.

“ **Fooound it**!” The blonde woman was suddenly stopped in her tracks when she noticed Jervis was without his mask– and more importantly, that he had candy. “ _Hey!_ **No fair!** I wanna sucker **too** , Red!”

While the candy was indeed important, Harley’s pout was mostly for show as she went over to the table and plopped herself into her chair. If anything, she was hiding the bubbly feeling of excitement over the fact Hatman without his mask meant that Ivy had given him the antidote. And Ivy giving him the antidote meant that she **LIKED** him. And her **LIKING** him meant that she was **RIGHT** about the fact her BFF would warm up to the guy if she just gave him a chance!

With an amused smile, Ivy left again and returned with another lollipop. “Whatcha got there, Harl?” she asked, dangling the treat in front of her temporary roommate and peering down at the book she’d brought back. The title was familiar, and her smile widened into a grin.

“Oh, yeah, **that** seems more his speed. You just might be onto something.”

Harley jumped a little in her seat, snatching the sucker before too popping it in her mouth– Ivy had been right to give the clown her favorite: blue raspberry. Now content, she went back to focusing on the book.

“Heh, yeah… I couldn’t finish it, cause the guy kind of… uh…” At this Quinzel paused, making a face. “ **WELL** , he kinda reminded me of somebody, an’ those were **NOT** images I needed– _nooooo thanks_!”

It was then that the blonde woman passed the book across the table, allowing Jervis to reach it. Having just finished fixing his sleeve, Hatter raised a brow as he picked up the novel to inspect it. On the cover were two men– one taller and a bit more unkempt with large circular framed glasses, the other man shorter, younger looking and wearing a more elaborate suit. Jervis wouldn’t have thought much of it, if it weren’t for the fact the younger man had a hand on the man’s chest. A clear sign of something a bit more intimate than mere companionship.

The Englishman tilted his head as he read the cover aloud.

“’ _The Schoolmaster’s Lesson’_?” Jervis set the book down as he looked at the two women across from him. Harley had a beam on her face, as she explained.

“Yeah! See, it’s a Harlequin Romance!” At this she laughed, no doubt finding the humor of her being a fan of the genre. “This one is kinda set in old times, where this rich guy comes to America t’do business for his folks. An’ while there he makes friends with the grump of a school teacher that most in the small town don’t like, y’see?”

Tetch blinked, trying to put the pieces together.

“And… you think this story will… help with my current **dilemma** ?” Jervis didn’t see how it would, but he wasn’t one to scoff at books recommended to him. He did enjoy a proper piece of literature, after all. And the Englishman had to admit… the synopsis Ms. Harley gave **did** intrigue him. Never had Jervis run into a more modern work that dealt with couples of the same sex.

“Oh trust me, _it’ll help_ .” If becoming invested in two characters slowly falling in love, only to lead to more passionate moments, didn’t set him on the right path, Ivy wasn’t sure he’d _ever_ be ready. Which was fine. It was never too late to learn new things about yourself. It was very possible Jervis just didn’t have sexual inclinations at all.

In a way, she kind of hoped that would be the case. She was curious to see if their relationship would hold up without it.

“I recommend you wait until you get home to start it, though. You might not be able to put it down once you do.” Ivy had half a mind of offer tea, but it would be cruel, considering the only tea they had was a special blend he wasn’t likely to appreciate.

At having the recommendation come from Dr. Isley as well, Jervis felt his mood lightening up. The tighten and heavy feeling in his chest dissipated as he sighed, finding himself relaxing. It was his turn to smile, as his very being radiated gratitude.

“I’ll be sure to do just that then. Thank you… both of you, really,for… Ah, well, mostly listening to my troubles.”

“Aww, **pushaw!** What’re friends for, Jerv!” At this Harley’s cheerful demeanor dropped, as she went into a more serious tone– her persona of Dr. Quinzel slipping through. “And, quite frankly, I wouldn’t mind helping you get through this hurdle for your own health. While it’ll be okay if that sort of intimacy with Prof. Crane isn’t something you end up wanting in the end, your paralysis on the subject is _concerning_.”

It drove the psychiatrist to wonder what other sort of unhealthy repression the man was taught in childhood, and how that could be affecting him now.

Jervis, meanwhile, found himself surprised at the change in attitude– suddenly feeling like he was sitting across Dr. Leland, rather than the fun bubbly young woman he was used to. In that moment he saw a part of the mind Crane had mentioned helping to mold, and while he certainly respected the intelligence… Perhaps the sudden shift was enough to make Hatter uncomfortable.

Still, Jervis did his best to reassure her.

“Yes, well… **In any case** , I usually don’t run into many issues. Some annoyances, but I don’t quite see having an aversion to wishing to engage with the more salacious of topics to be much of an impasse. It’s only **now** that Jonathan is involved that I at least wish to allow myself the…   **leeway** of making an attempt to meet him halfway, _as it were_.”

Folding his hands on top of the novel, the Englishman decided it was time for a change in subject.

“Now that we’ve talked about me plenty, _please_ … **do** allow me to ask how the both of you have been.”

And it was with that the rest of their time spent together went on– the tension having slipped as Jervis was finally granted a more welcoming conversation. It was pleasant being able to see the two of them both in their own environment, joking away about all the shenanigans they’ve been up to– despite Dr. Isley not being able to leave her home. And just like that the hours had flew by, and soon the Englishman bid them adieu– now one book heavier and one mind lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art, as always, credited to Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com/


	26. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jervis sits down to read 'The Schoolmaster's Lesson', hoping to find out just why Harley suggested he read it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Steaminess, though it doesn't go TOO far. Also alcohol tw, though only for the fictional characters within the fake novel.

Upon arriving back to Maple Drive, the sun just beginning to set over Gotham, that Jervis Tetch found himself surprised that their lair was empty. Quick exploration– searching their homely bedroom, and Crane’s study– the Englishman made quick deductions that Jonathan must have been out for the evening– more than likely picking up something or another for his work. Which of course led Nevar to be out on sentry duty– the poor dear, stuck outside in the cold! It was… strange to be in the factory alone. Sounds had a habit of echoing off the walls, something Jervis wasn’t used to after spending so much time in their barn out on the countryside. Everything was big, wider, more spacious-- where it had been comfortable and snug. More intimate, one would even say.

Still, the factory certainly won out just from being able to insulate heat with a working furnace– as well as the ability to run water. And it was the latter luxury that had Jervis, after removing his outer layers of clothing, that the man went to prepare himself a kettle of tea.

It was with a second thought that he turned on the radio, pleased to hear ‘ _Clair de Lune_ ’ playing on the classic channel. Allowing the piano to fill the emptiness of the home, Jervis puttered as he waited for his water to boil– and soon sat down in their newly acquired sitting room furnishings. (Jonathan had been a dear to bring down their seats and sofa from the barn, as he had to return there after realizing he had forgotten something or another. Although, the Englishman couldn’t help but think his partner had missed the comfort of soft seats just as much as he had.)

That all said, Jervis had gingerly plopped himself into a seat– teacup and book in hand, as he allowed himself to get comfortable. Hatter stared at the cover once more, genuinely curious about its contents and the characters that resided in the illustration.

“Well, _seeing as I have nothing better to do with my time…_ ” Jervis said aloud, finishing off a sip of his drink, before opening the book to the first chapter. And it was with a tilt of his head that he began to read:

* * *

 

_Reginald Pennant was what most would want from a man: kind, clever, and hard working to a fault. And in all his years, the only complaints anyone seemed to have about him was his never-ending realm of dreaminess about him. Many a times the man would be caught in a daze state– mind adrift and away from whatever business or going-ons that he was surrounded with. It merely took a quick nudge to bring him back, his blue eyes focusing on whomever had disturbed him, and Pennant would reacquaint himself with reality._

_If asked what kept him drifting off so, the man would simply shrug. “It doesn’t much matter,” he would reply, a sense of wistfulness escaping him despite his better judgement._

_And it was with that, the man was known: a melancholy dreamer in want of a worthy dream._

_Though, surely one would think the man should have no complaints? He came from a proud and aristocratic family. The Pennants were a people of wealth, their name held much weight and stock– Reginald’s father especially having dipped his toes in many of the financial opportunities about them. Yet, one supposed with Reginald being the youngest in a family of brothers– the elder two having the most responsibilities about them– one shouldn’t fault the man for lackadaisical aspirations. He went where he was told, and much like the workings of an old grandfather clock, did his duties before quietly excusing himself._

_It was from this sense of fluttering that Mr. Pennant, his father, one day called his son into his study to have a chat. Pipe in hand, smoke coming off him like that of a chimney, that he beckoned his son to sit in the chair opposite him of the fireplace._

_“You’re not as young as you used to be, you know,” Mr. Pennant had commented, voice gruff from years of smoking more so than from actual disposition. “Just over 30 years, half a life, at that, and still you act as if you haven’t a care in the world.”_

_“Come now,” Reginald had said lightly, although the air of joviality was more so to lighten the tension he was feeling from where the conversation was surely heading. “You can’t say I haven’t done a single thing you’ve asked of me, father. Have I not been a loyal son? Have I not done my best?”_

_“I wonder at that,” Mr. Pennant responded, taking another puff of his pipe. “Look at your brothers– two men positioned. They knew what they wanted out of life, and by God, they went for it. Now they’re both running different branches of the Pennant Family businesses– Landon with his oil in Arabia, Bentley with his shipping. What does that leave you?”_

_“Happy and home with my loving parents, who cherish that at least one of their sons wishes to be there for them long since they’ve turned old and grey.”_

_Reginald’s answer only made his father sigh._

_“You know I don’t scold to be cruel, of course your mother and I enjoy your company-”_

_“Then that means there isn’t a problem, I take it?” Reginald challenged. He arose from his seat, giving a good nod of his head. “Pleasant talk as always, father. Now, if you needn’t anything else from me–”_

_“Blast it all, boy! Sit down!”_

_Ah, Mr. Pennant was no longer in the mood for such fanciful airs. No, his son would not be able to squeeze himself out of the conversation just from his wits alone. And it was with a huff that Reginald plopped himself in his seat, and his father carried on._

_“Now,” Mr. Pennant began more collectively, his pipe resting against his teeth as he wanted to address what the subject was really about. “I’ll be sending you away–”_

_“Away!” Reginald exclaimed, eyes wide upon hearing this. His shriek came to a halt as his father raised a hand, silencing him._

_“Yes, away. We have business in the colonies– the publishing firm there hasn’t been churning enough profit as I had hoped. I need someone of keen mind that I can trust to look into why that has been. As both your brothers are off on their own adventures, I see fit to send you.”_

_Reginald didn’t know what to say about this. While he found the compliments from his father especially flattering… One couldn’t help but think they were laced with some sort of ill intent underneath. Daring to breach the subject, it took all of the young man’s skill not to leak out his suspicions._

_“Ah, yes, I suppose that makes sense. Just how long would you require me to be there?”_

_“Half a year.”_

_“Half a year!” Now Reginald was up out of his seat again, his arms outstretched indignantly. “Surely you can’t see that as reasonable!”_

_It was with a smile hidden under the father’s mustache, that Mr. Pennant couldn’t help but think if only his son was usually this passionate. Yet, still, he pressed on._

_“Quite reasonable. There is lots to be done, much to be looked into.” At this he gave the younger man a more pleading look. “It’s not like I’m sending you off to the wolves, Reginald. I already have a home set up for you, all staffed and awaiting you arrival. And of course, you will have your allowance to do with as you please on top of that. I’m a humane man, I’m not asking you to sacrifice much more than a bit of your time. And once the job is done, you’ll be free to return home with us, should you choose to do so.”_

_Should he choose to do so, indeed! Reginald knew when he was being manipulated. He could clearly see he had no choice on the matter, and this was just his father’s way of telling him what was already set into motion. Although, Reginald suppose it was his father’s kindness that he attempted the allusion of asking for his approval of the decision. While the younger Pennant wasn’t happy to feel cornered, he sighed as he resided to his fate._

_“…When do I leave?”_

* * *

 

Apparently it hadn’t been much time after the eldest Pennant told his son of the ordeal, that Reginald had set sail for America. Jervis couldn’t help but find some relatability to the man’s struggle of wishing to please those around him– and feeling like he didn’t have control of his life. While Hatter would argue that things were a bit different for himself now-a-days, the same couldn’t be said for the main character of the novel. After some reading of the voyage, Reginald had finally docked in New York colony. There were a bit more set up characters mentioned– like the old maid who would be there looking over Reginald’s rented estate. As well as making sure the staff knew what needed to be done to keep the aristocrat happy and fed. The following day for the man, he had been out about town, meeting the manager for the publishing firm– a Mr. Barnabas Brown– as the older man showed him about the town.

* * *

 

_The hour had grown to mid-day before there came a pause. Mr. Brown halted outside the local pub as they passed, and turned to the young man with a smile and a glint in his eye._

_“Now, Mr. Pennant, I’ve shown you the services this town has to offer, but not yet its greatest feature.” He gestured to the pub. “The people who reside here. Care for a bite to eat?”_

_Reginald smiled and gladly accepted the offer. He was hungry, and a quick rest couldn’t hurt._

_They were greeted with dim, amber lights, and a cheerful, warm atmosphere. Friendly chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the smell of mixed spices wafted through the air. This place was certainly very cozy, Reginald had decided. There was suddenly a hand on his shoulder, Mr. Brown’s, to be precise. He tilted his head toward an older gentleman sitting at the bar._

_“That’s Mr. Barnes. His wife passed four years ago, but he’s still the kindest man you’ll ever meet. And over there we have young Mary. She grows the most beautiful flowers. She sells them on the street every Saturday. And over there…”_

_He went on, of that Reginald was aware, but his words had quickly faded to background noise. Someone else had caught his attention, one that Mr. Brown seemed to skim over entirely. A man sat at a booth alone in the corner, his attention captured by the book open in front of him. Long and lean even while sitting, messy raven hair, a pair of spectacles perched on the brim of a crooked, yet distinguished nose. A slight frown seemed set into his features._

_Reginald was given a start when the mysterious man suddenly looked up from his book, and instantly locked eyes with him. Whether it was the shock of being caught, or the intensity behind that piercing hazel gaze that caught his breath in his throat, he couldn’t be sure. Reginald tore his gaze away to turn his attention momentarily back to Mr. Brown._

_“And who, if I may inquire, is that over there?” He tilted his head in his general direction, as it was rude to point. A quick glance back over and he saw the man had gone back to reading his book._

_“Ah, that would be Mr. Lewis. He’s the local schoolmaster… but I would kindly suggest you avoid him if at all possible. He has quite the reputation for being rather… unpleasant company.”_

_That wasn’t hard to see, just from the icy demeanor the man had about him, that he wasn’t exactly the most sociable of creatures. Still, throwing back a curious glance at Mr. Lewis hidden behind his book, Reginald followed Mr. Brown deeper into the pub and away from the likes of the schoolmaster._

_“Yes… I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. That said, you did promise me a bite to eat, correct? I would love to be acquainted with everyone, but I’m afraid I’ve grown quite famished.”_

_And with that, it was the end of the conversation on that matter. Pennant was sure that it would be the last time he would need to worry about him– as there was no reason for a young aristocrat such as himself to engage with the likes of the teacher._

* * *

 

And yet it hadn’t been the last time, as Jervis was quick to find out as he read on. Circumstances had led the two to bump into each other on many occasions. The first time had been by mere chance, literally stumbling into one another trying to receive the services of the post. While Reginald was certainly smaller, the towering man was thin and frail, and had ended up on the ground– his parcels littering the street. It was with Reginald’s own mortification over the event that led to him going out of his way to help the man carry his things– his destination having been the school house.

It was a long walk, especially since Mr. Lewis refused to have the younger man spend money on calling about a cab. And yet… Reginald had found himself enjoying Lewis’ company. The man was churlish with his attitude, but there was a humor about him that was very different from any of the other men he had met before.

Jervis couldn’t help but be reminded of Jonathan, and their first meetings in Arkham. It had taken a while to get used to his attitude, but once he had and realized it was nothing personal, Crane had been the most pleasant of companions. It seemed Reginald had fallen to the same allure, as one meeting became another. And then another had become many, and soon both bachelors were known to constantly be in each other’s company– when the likes of work didn’t keep the two apart.

There was also the plot of Pennant doing as his father asked of him– as he surveyed the likes of what people in the town were interested in reading versus what the publishing firm was printing. Outside of the bible being a constant seller, it seemed the company’s desire to sell textbooks was the company’s failing. While that was all interesting on its own– with Reginald taking it under his wing to try and find new authors that might catch the appeal of the growing demand for entertainment– Jervis found himself much more enthralled by the interactions between Pennant and Lewis. The growing affections as they went from referring to each other only by last names, to going on a first name basis: Edgar Lewis was the teacher’s full name, and Jervis couldn’t help but beam at it.

It was also intriguing to see how many people throughout the town had mentioned to Reginald how surprised they were that he preferred to keep his company. The young aristocrat may have been polite– he had been raised well and knew how to associate with society– he had never felt as relaxed around others as he had with Edgar. Where most saw the schoolmaster as aloof and introverted, Reginald saw the silent compassion he gave to those under his wing. Stern, but patient, how could the others not see what he had to offer the world? Had none others dared to look past his icy mask?

Their loss was his gain, as in no time half the time he was meant to stay in America had passed. And with it had been the passing of Autumn, and the approach of Winter. It seemed with the harsher weather came the need for the school house to close– and with it Edgar’s pension. This had made Reginald very upset, as he wondered how the man would be able to take care of himself during the time. He didn’t know much of what a teacher’s salary was during the rest of the year, but he had enough sense to know it wouldn’t have been enough for his dear friend to live off his own. No, this would not do. He would not allow this man he had come to find so dear to starve and wither way!

And it was with this determination, the aristocrat demanded Lewis house with him. The place was far too big for one bachelor to handle, he assured him, and if anything the schoolmaster would be doing him a favor– as living alone aside for his staff had been far too much solitude for him to handle.

And it was while the two began living with each other, did Jervis notice the change. While they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, there was something to say about the constant presence of another person. The way one got used to their company. Seeing them at all hours, in their most vulnerable of times…

And it was from there that Reginald Pennant found himself undeniably enchanted by his one and only friend.

There was a familiarity here that Tetch knew all too well. The idea of knowing one’s love would be unrequited, yet simply choosing not to dwell on it because what mattered more was keeping them in your life. The feeling of the passion burning within your every moment with the other, yet feeling like you were forever dancing around the subject. Sometimes lightly touching it, as there were times Lewis seemed to have been outright flirting. And yet, oh, Reginald could never be sure.

This seemed to have changed, late Christmas evening. Pennant had allowed the staff the weekend to do as they please– many of them going into town to be with their friends and relations. This, naturally, left the two men to themselves. It was meant to be a night of celebration, and thus Reginald broke out the brandy as the two stayed close to the fire in the aristocrat’s study. Glasses were filled numerous times, and with it was an air of relaxation that Reginald hadn’t felt in the longest of times.

It was with this, that sentimentality began to spill from his lips.

* * *

 

_“Edgar, have I mentioned lately how grateful I am to you?”_

_This had certainly gotten the schoolmaster’s attention, as he lazily arched a brow in inquiry._

_“Today? No, I suppose not. And not even the day before. I believe you’re slipping,” words spilled from Lewis in a sarcastic drawl. “Though, I don’t see how it should be you showing your gratitude. I am the one living in your home and off your salary, aren’t I?”_

_At this, Pennant scoffed._

_“You should know by now the money means nothing to me.”_

_“I do, and I find it absolutely ridiculous. But please, do go on and tell me however it is that you’re the grateful one of our relationship.”_

_The word ‘relationship’ made Reginald feel all a-flutter, though he chose to take it as it was no doubt intended– referring to their unlikely companionship. At this the aristocrat stared into his glass, the amber liquid swirled around a few times simply for the act of doing so._

_“How much have I told you about my life back home in England? I know I’ve mentioned my family, but what all have I really discussed with you about everything that my life entailed?”_

_Edgar had brought his glass up to sip from it, his eyes cast toward the fire as he seemed to contemplate the question. After a short while, with a shrug and the tilt of his brow, his gaze returned to Reginald._

_“Not much more than that, honestly. It’s a subject I’ve noticed you have a habit of avoiding. Am I to be graced by its telling at long last?” The air of teasing hadn’t been missed, but neither had the glint of genuine intrigue in his companion’s eye that urged him on._

_At this Reginald shook his head, not so much as if to disagree with the other man, but more so for his own disappointment._

_“That’s simply because there wasn’t much else to share. I was a simple man, living a simple life. One month I would be budgeting the family’s ledgers, the next forced into the role of a secretary for my father’s correspondence. A man well read, having many a humble skill, with little care of what came of me. To those of the Pennant name… the most heinous of crimes.”_

_The aristocrat sighed, pushing some of his straw colored fringe off his brow as he lamented about his previous life._

_“Many times I felt more like an accessory, a thing carried upon my mother’s arm for when father had business to attend to. If allowed, I would have simply locked myself in our library and refused to see the light of day ever again. A lonely existence, yet, I had grown so used to it. Reading may have brought some comfort, I even attempted to write a few stories of my own– have I ever mentioned that? Quite ridiculous, the notion of it!”_

_At this Reginald laughed bitterly._

_“How could I simply think I could even come close to those before me? To those that had lived a life outside their homes? Those who knew of plights beyond my meager limitations of melancholy– how dare I think fit to write when I couldn’t even dream on my own! A man who would fancy his existence riding the coat-tails of others…”_

_Pennant took a violent swig of his brandy, his self hate of the man he was very much evident._

_“I didn’t wish to be here at first. Have I told you that? Have I told you our very encounter comes to us from the stern demandings of my father too? I loathed it, you know. I utterly despised him for sending me away. For throwing me aside, as if deciding I wasn’t of any use to him any longer.”_

_All acidity in the aristocrat’s tone melted away, gone so suddenly one would begin to wonder if it had truly been there at all._

_“I no longer feel that way, you know. I see the truth of it. What I had seen as a punishment, was truly a blessing in disguise. The proper chance to stretch myself, as if I was running for the first time. I was allowed to make decisions on my own. I was allowed to choose my own schedules– responsibility had seemed like a terrible burden, it seems utterly ridiculous to think I had been afraid of it for so long.”_

_It was then that Reginald locked eyes with the schoolmaster across from him, fondness painting his boyish features._

_“Then of course, there is the fact I’ve met you. You, the man I was warned to stay clear of. Yet… yet I can’t imagine a life without you by my side. It’s ludicrous, isn’t it? To have known someone for so little a time, and feel as if they might be the most important figure in their life…”_

_The man across of from smirked and chuckled. “Yes, ludicrous.” His eyes retreated down to his drink, as he swirled it inside the glass. “You know it isn’t surprising you were warned to keep your distance from me. I’ve made quite the unfavorable reputation for myself, I’m afraid. I’d convinced myself it was for the better; more time spent alone, unbothered by pointless distractions, the more time I would have to devote to my work. But now…”_

_Those hazel eyes found his again as he added with utmost sincerity, “It’s no secret I’m forever grateful to you for opening up your home to me so willingly. But I am even more grateful that you decided to stay here to begin with.” Here that playful smirk returned. “So, thank you, Reginald, for foolishly ignoring the townspeople’s warnings and, befriending the beast, as it were.”_

_“Beast! Really now,” at this the aristocrat gave a genuine hearty laugh. “A tad wicked at times, but beastly? No, never. Never to me. You might have tricked those in town, love, but I do believe I’ve seen through your scheme.”_

_Reginald sighed, more so to dispel the bubbly nature he was feeling inside himself. Oh, he must have had too much to drink, to be having a hard time composing himself. He laughed, this time a more airy tone._

_“Do forgive me, Edgar. I didn’t mean to come off as if brushing aside your sentiments. They mean a lot to me. Too much, I’m afraid, as your words have left me feeling quite light headed. I’ve know, of course, one doesn’t get close without picking up a thing or two along the way. Yet…” And here Reginald paused, his words coming out faint as he carried on. “It’s quite different hearing the thought, isn’t it?”_

_A soft hum and a nod of his head was Edgar’s only immediate reply. After a short while of contemplative silence, he said_

_“I’m of the firm belief that some sentiments_ **_should_ ** _be said aloud, lest they go unnoticed and unknown until it becomes too late for them to matter at all. It may be the brandy, dear Reginald, or it may simply be the result of spending so much time with such a striking young man in my midst. But would you hold it against me if I told you that sometimes… I wonder if my feelings for you may run deeper than mere companionship?”_

_Upon hearing this Reginald’s heart began to beat rapidly, his chest feeling tight in both anticipation and mild dread of where the conversation was surely heading. It couldn’t be that his dear friend had figured him out, could it? Was this some test? Lewis simply taking his words and twisting them into some form of jest, very much like a twist of the knife in one’s heart…_

_“Ah, you’re teasing me again.” At this Pennant grew a bit more rigid, turning his gaze to the fire more so to hide the fact the words pained him more than he wished to let on. “I apologize if I… let this stray into uncomfortable territory for you, my friend. But I do wish you wouldn’t say things you don’t mean.”_

* * *

 

At this Jervis couldn’t help but bite his knuckle, preventing himself from screaming in utter frustration! How, just HOW could the man be so **blind** as to not see the genuineness in the other’s words! Edgar was a **good man** , he wouldn’t pay words to mean anything half as cruel as Pennant was implying!

The Englishman huffed, but otherwise read on, fully invested in seeing where the conversation was heading next…

* * *

 

_Edgar’s posture changed then, as he leaned forward, leaning elbows on his legs, glass dangling precariously between his knees. Eyes fixed on Reginald’s face, despite the man’s gaze still being fixed on the dancing flames._

_“On the contrary. Never in my life has this territory felt more comfortable. You should know better than anyone of my penchant for speaking my mind. My words may not always be kind, but they are never untruthful. Have you felt the same pull, Reginald? Or have I made a fool of myself?”_

_‘Same pull’. It was the use of these two words that made Reginald whip his head in the other’s direction. Looking at Edgar he could see his usual serious airs, that sternness that spoke of a man set on wherever his conviction would lead him. Yet… The aristocrat swore he saw something else. His large bifocals only seemed to intensify the sharp look of uncertainty– of guarding himself from a blow he was expecting to come._

_Perhaps it was this glimpse of fear from a fearless man that was enough to give Reginald the courage he needed._

_“No, never a fool. Or if you are, I suspect I must be labeled as such, as well.” Pennant put his glass onto the table next to his seat, feeling the need to ground himself from feeling the cool of the wooden surface. Eyes still locked with Edgar’s, he went on. “I’ve… also felt this pull for quite some time. I had assumed it was a passing fancy, latching onto something– anything– that sparked something inside me. That it was a newness that would leave in due time, like many an interest I’ve had before. But… it doesn’t. The kindle seems to only burn stronger, some days to the point I fear it may consume me.”_

_Reginald had to look away once more, least he expire from the pure intensity of the gaze upon him alone._

_“If… if that’s the pull in which you speak, then yes. Yes I know the feeling all too well.”_

_A small, relieved sigh, the clink of Edgar’s own glass being set aside._

_“Then, if we are in agreement, why do you still avoid my gaze? Do these feelings frighten you, Reginald?” The swift, graceful movement that landed the schoolmaster on his knees at his feet forced Reginald to return his attention back to him, staring down in bewilderment. “If you’ve taught me anything, it is that a life of avoidance isn’t a life worth living. Jump with me, Reginald. Right into the fire; let it consume us both.”_

_Was he afraid? Yes. With change came the unknown. The fear of falling and not knowing if there would be something soft to land on the other side. It was a plunge that had frightened the young aristocrat all his life._

_But looking into the earnest eyes of the man he truly came to love– the only other being that seemed to not only understand him, but accept him…  Reginald Pennant felt the courage to push past his fears, leaping from his seat as he took the plunge– lips clashing together with a vigor he never felt before. The sudden sensation of the schoolmaster grabbing the sides of his arms to sturdy him was enough to cause Reginald to gasp in surprise, which the other man greatly took advantage of as he deepened the kiss._

_Passion exploded and engulfed them as their tongues eagerly explored, tasting one another at long last. The hands on the aristocrat’s arms slid up to cradle the back of his head. The schoolmaster rose up then, never breaking the kiss, climbing into Reginald’s chair, straddling his lap. Reluctantly, he pulled away, panting hot breath against Reginald’s ear._

_“I’ve craved you, Reginald.” A hand left Reginald’s head and trailed down to his neck, where nimble fingers made easy work of his cravat, tugging it free and dropping it to the floor. “Voice any protests you may have… or I’m likely to devour you here and now.”_

* * *

 

****

**SHUNT!**

Book now closed in Jervis’ lap, the man looked alarmed as he stared at the novel’s cover. Face flushed, embarrassment hit him as Tetch suddenly realized just what he was reading. _It was smut_ . Harleen Quinzel had given him bawdy reading material, fully knowing what she was doing. In hindsight, he supposed that made the conversation and the likes of suggesting reading material over ah, _video assistance_ make more sense. His nervousness over the original conversation having made him a bit dull witted on the uptake, that Hatter hadn’t fully realized just what he was signing up for. And of course, he had been very much lost in the story, the similarities between the characters and Jonathan and him enough to make the world disappear around him.

Jervis’ initial reaction was to throw the book aside, _nay_ , lock it up away in order for it to never see the light of day ever again! To have it as far away from him as possible, his unease ever evident. His mind screamed at him about the inappropriateness of it all!

However… underneath the yelling and fuss, was another feeling. One that spoke softer, a sweeter melody very much like a siren’s song that tried to lure him away from this reflex. Like a whisper to the ear, it said: ‘ _Aren’t you at all curious to know what happens next?_ ’

Despite the shame, despite the anxiety that having such a novel in his lap-- _ready to be consumed_ \-- brought him… **He was.** Jervis had found himself very much invested in these characters, in knowing where their lives would bring them next. He did very much wish to see where it all was leading. And… and hadn’t he gone to Harley for advice in such matters to begin with? Both she and Ivy had recommended this be a way of introducing him to the concept of a more intimate relationship. And wasn’t fiction there to be a safe environment? A way of dabbing with the unknown, without the risk?

Very much like Eve being convinced to take the forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden, these thoughts were enough to get Jervis to open the book once more.

* * *

 

[…] _“Voice any protests you may have… or I’m likely to devour you here and now.”_

_Even if Reginald had felt the desire to stop the path the two were going down, he wouldn’t have been able to voice it as Edgar lips found themselves on the aristocrat’s neck– doing just as he had promised. Nips and teeth scraping at the previously hidden flesh caused Pennant’s senses to burst forth in wakening. Reginald’s only felt all the more breathless as the schoolmaster traversed down to the crevice where neck and shoulder met– having decided to attack it with a voracity. Reginald moaned, his arms having wrapped around Edgar’s frame as if holding him was the only thing keeping his spirit from traveling on without him._

_“Edgar…”_

_The one in question, pulled his lips away from the other man’s skin. His breath on Reginald’s flesh enough to send a shiver through him._

_“Do you wish for me to stop?” The schoolmaster asked, his voice having grown hoarse from desire. “Tell me now, and I will do you the service of never speaking of this again.”_

_Edgar’s answer came with the tightened of Reginald’s hold, drawing the man closer to him._

_“Don’t you dare.”_

* * *

 

Jervis found himself reading with fervor– eyes glued to the text, only every so often peeling himself away as to turn to the next page. He didn’t quite know when it had happened, but soon his mind supplemented the images of the book’s characters with that of himself and his partner. It wasn’t Edgar who was stripping Reginald of his layers upon layers of clothing, it was Jonathan undressing him. The excited rutting and moaning of the characters could easily be replaced with familiar sounds he had heard from his love– grunts of heavy lifting and moans from his sleep coming to mind instantly. Things that had once been innocent enough, now tainted and used to fill out the void within Hatter’s knowledge.

The Englishman found his knuckle to his mouth once more, as he bit into his hand so as to ground himself. Pooling inside him was a nervous excitement, his toes curling within his shoes as he read onward– the men in the story long since abandoning the chair as they found themselves onto the hard wooden floors, basking in the flames from the fireplace. It was now him who was on top of Jonathan– Jervis not quite sure when he switched up the character’s roles as he hungrily consumed his partner’s thin frame. Lips trailing down Jonathan’s stomach, before reaching the prize. It was strange, this excitement, the very idea of wanting a part of another person inside you. Of wanting to take up your fill, as the other writhed beneath you. Jervis squeezed his own legs together, a heavy sigh escaping him from the newness of the sensation.

All of this came to a halt, however, when Tetch was jolted from his lust-filled imaginings by the sound of the factory doors opening. Jervis gasped, suddenly realizing where he was, and what he had just been doing. And in his panic, he buried the book to the side of his chair, grabbing onto his long since finished cup of tea, as he pretended to drink– his hand slightly shaking as the china clattered.

And it was in this state that Crane found him.

Scarecrow paused in the doorway, a large bag draped over one shoulder. He stared in at Jervis, eyeing him with intrigue. He looked rattled, practically _haunted._ It was a look Scarecrow decided he rather liked on the man. No doubt his trip to Harley and Ivy’s place had gone awry. How tragic.

Nevar swooped in then, landing on Scarecrow’s shoulder, and reminding him he was still standing in the doorway. He continued on inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

“Your session with Doctor Quinzel went well, I see.” He remarked sarcastically on his way to his work room. Jervis would need to be checked for toxins, of course, but he’d leave that to the professor. Nevar left his shoulder as he passed, but Scarecrow barely noticed, continuing on into his room to deposit his bag of newly acquired goods.

The eyes of the mask upon him, staring Jervis down as if he was stripping him down to the barest form– trying to pry secrets from him, had been enough to cause the Englishman to sit up straighter in his seat. And just as suddenly as he appeared, like a specter his partner disappeared out of sight– leaving his comment behind. Jervis attempted to cross his legs, his horror growing at having realized his earlier excitement had caused there to be some difficulty in the action. Tetch forced himself through the action, resting both his hands and tea cup over his nethers.

“Ah, yes, **it went quite well**!” Jervis called out, voice slightly cracking as he dared not to move from his seat. “Harleen sends her affections, “ he tried again, this time much happier with the fact his tone was much more even. Hatter sighed, only to jump again as Nevar fluttered to the armrest next to him. The bird croaked, tilting his head as if to also try and pry.

Jervis buried his face into his hand, away from the nosy little crow to hide his mortification.

“Oh… _please don’t look at me right now_. ”

“ **Oh my!** ” Nevar squawked in reply…. And for once, he was in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by Mica, who looked like she had too much fun drawing an excited Jervis: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	27. Famous Thoroughfare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of one of the biggest social events of the year-- the Wayne Foundation's Charity Fundraiser. Unfortunately for those at the Wayne Estate, they have some uninvited guests come to steal the show. Too bad they're both some of the biggest stage hogs this side of Gotham.
> 
> It's always easier when the villains try offing each other, you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Face trauma tw, food tw, and... Mild blood?

The sound of a live band and laughter could be heard even from outside of the Wayne Estate. The manor was lit up with a bright and colorful ambiance, holiday cheer very much evident. Another year had gone by, and it was yet again time for the Wayne Foundation’s Holiday Drive– a Yuletide celebration in order to donate food and presents to the Gotham City Orphanage. It was the social event of the season– second only to Veronica Vreeland’s New Year’s Bash.

Which was fine, as far as Bruce Wayne was concerned. To him it wasn’t really about the party anyway. He enjoyed using his influence to help bring awareness to the plights of those who need an extra bit of love and kindness. Bruce had just finished talking with Minerva Matthews, a woman getting on in years but coming from generations of wealth. Wayne was happy to see the woman had accepted his invite, for years she was considered a recluse until an incident with Catwoman taking her hostage gave her a new outlook on life. Her change of tune was certainly doing wonders, as it now seemed she was looking into adopting one of the children from the orphanage.

“Somebody looks like they’re in good spirits.” It was Dick, Wayne’s ward, as he came up to hand his father figure a glass of champagne. Bruce gratefully accepted it.

“Must be the holiday cheer,” the billionaire joked back, taking a sip of his drink. “That, and hearing the good news that Miss Matthews is looking to adopt some children of her own.”

“Guess you can never be too old for that sort of thing,” Dick said with a shrug, before giving the man next to him a playful nudge. “You’d know, y’old geezer.”

“Keep that up, and I might start making you pay for your college tuition on your own.” And it was with the mention of schooling that Bruce dropped his own teasing, as he put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you home for the holidays.”

“C’mon, Bruce, don’t be getting all sappy on me now. You act like I’m hardly around.”

“Certainly feels like it. Not that I mind you actually taking to your studies for a change.”

It was with this that Dick groaned.

“Tell me ‘bout it. Exams were kicking me around for a while there. But hey, ‘nough about school. This is supposed to be my night off!”

“Indeed.” And it was with this that Wayne nudged his ward towards another side of the manor. “I believe I saw Barbara somewhere in that direction.You may even be able to sneak a dance before somebody else decides to snatch her up.”

“ _What a wingman._ ” Dick scoffed in sarcasm, but otherwise followed up on the suggestion– having spotted Barbara Gordon on the arm of her father. Bruce smiled, shaking his head, as he went to circulate around the room. Who knew, maybe he could convince another one of Gotham’s elite to consider adopting.

“Oh Brucie~” Veronica Vreeland called, waving the man over to come chat with a few of her girlfriends and her 3rd husband. Bruce smiled, making his way over. Well, so much for looking out for new candidates. Veronica didn’t need any new **hobbies** , after all.

* * *

 

Oswald Cobblepot most certainly **wasn’t** on the guest list, but that had never stopped him from showing up to the party, anyway, and tonight was no exception. He hadn’t used the front entrance this time, however; there was someone greeting the guests at the door, and he **_was_ ** supposed to be in Arkham.

But what he’d come for wasn’t being displayed out in Bruce Wayne’s fancy party foyer, anyway. No, the swan had been tucked away somewhere else, and after climbing into an unlocked window and snooping around, he finally found it in some dark, secluded side room. Disgraceful. This room was filled with countless valuable-looking items, but Oswald took no notice to any of them, his gaze fixed on his prize and nothing else.

It was gorgeous. The silver swan sat gracefully atop its pedestal, its sapphire eyes gleaming in the reflected moonlight cascading in from the single window. It seemed to beckon to him, and he answered, walking to her as if in a daze. He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing a cheek against the cool metal surface.

“Where have you **been** all my life, you beautiful bird?” he cooed to it. “ **You** belong with _me_ , I’ll treat you better than that Wayne jerk ever could!”

“Uh, boss?”

Oswald’s smile shattered then, his eyes shooting open and darting back to where his two hired thugs stood.

 _“Can’t you two see we’re having a_ **_moment_ ** _here?!_ ” he snapped. “Huh?” The embrace was broken and Oswald turned to listen. Murmuring, and the beam of a flashlight down the hall.

“What are you two morons waiting for, grab the swan and let’s get out of here!” He hissed. The thugs quickly swept into action, working together to hoist the swan up , grunting under its weight and shuffling back out toward the window through which they’d come. Penguin was about to follow when the murmuring became louder, and close enough for him to make out the words.

“I swear I heard somethin’. Up this way somewhere.”

“I don’t know about this. Man, what if it’s the _Joker_ or somethin?”

“It’s not the Joker, sheesh! The Joker doesn’t give a shit about Bruce Wayne. Besides, Mr. Wayne’s paying us so much, I’d face a **hundred** Jokers.”

“Yeah, great, cash doesn’t mean anything if we’re dead.”

The beam of the flashlight panned over the room, and the two young teens squinted into the darkness.

“Whoa. That’s quite the collection.”

“No kidding. Just one of these things could pay for my whole college tuition!”

“No Joker, though.”

“Nope. Let’s get back downstairs, this place is giving me the creeps.”

Penguin stood still and listened. As soon as he heard footsteps going back down the stairs, he let out the breath he’d been holding and threw the sheet off. He was grumbling to himself as he exited the room, placing his hat back on his head and shuffling back toward the window after his thugs. He peered out said window, and saw that they had the swan in the back of their truck, covered neatly with a tarp, tied down and secured. The driver saw him and waved at him, signaling they were ready to go. Penguin grinned and started climbing out… and then paused.

“Hmm.” He waved back down to them, signaling them to go on back without him. He had to do this twice before the thug understood and took off. Penguin watched them drive away, then turned away from the window, adjusting his tie for good measure.

“The bird’s been burgled, no reason I shouldn’t stick around to enjoy the festivities.” He continued on downstairs to mingle, poorly flirting with every woman he passed on his way to the free buffet.

* * *

 

“And I told Hayes:’ _Really, dear, you can’t possibly want this cheap old thing! We’ll get you something better in Paris.’_ “

At this Veronica Vreeland laughed at her own joke, her husband laughing along with her– though a bit more sheepish about it. Bruce Wayne, however, politely smiled.

“Well, I know from personal experience you tend to have harsh tastes over what men wear. Alfred’s still heartbroken over you judging what **_I_ **wear.”

Veronica playfully swat Bruce over that.

“Oh, don’t you go pinning poor Alfred against me. I just think you could use more variety in your suits. You could use more color, Brucie! Please, let me take you out to get you something in navy blue.” The billionaire hummed in thought. “Hmm, no, still too dark. Baby blues, I should think. Let the world see you for a change! No need to hide yourself– shout that you’re Bruce Wayne!”

The man in question took a polite sip of his champagne.

“I think you do enough shouting for me, Ronnie. I like to let my charity work do most of my talking.”

“You’re hopeless!” Vreeland turned to her husband. “Hayes, tell the man he’s hopeless.”

“I don’t think I can, dear.” The man replied, eyeing her friend. “He’s Bruce Wayne– I think he’s allowed to do whatever he wants.”

“Now this one I like.” Bruce playfully patted Veronica’s husband on the shoulder. “He’ll actually disagree with you for a change.”

The woman huffed, starting to go on one of her indignant rants… when a familiar sight caught Wayne’s attention. Bobbing through the crowd, very much like the fin of a shark peeking through the waves like an omen of bad tidings, was the tip of a floppy hat he recognized. Momentarily Wayne glared, quickly wiping it away as he did his best to excuse himself from the current conversation.

“I’m sorry, Ronnie, but it just dawned on me that there was something I needed to check in on. Please excuse me, I’ll be back later for a dance, you know.”

Veronica huffed, though smiled all the same.

“You say that every time, and yet I never do get that dance.”

Bruce had the feeling she wouldn’t have this one either, if his suspicions were correct. No longer under the scrutiny of others, all cheerfulness crumbled from the billionaire’s visage as he made his way through the room. He was nearing in on his quarry, when suddenly the room was sent into pitch black darkness– the lights having been shut off. Many people gasped, a few women screamed at the suddenness of it all. Wayne was on his guard, his eyes used to the dark more so than others around him, as he kept his sense peeled for the first sign of trouble.

Trouble, however, came with the sudden burst of green lights over on the staircase near the back of the room. There, standing at the top of the floor as if it was a stage, with a woman on each arm… was the Riddler.

Riddler only grinned, his henchgirls– Echo and Query– slipping out from under his arms as the rogue brought his cane up to his mouth as one would a microphone.

“Good evening, Gothamites!” His voice boomed, coming from all directions of the room at once. “Ladies, gentlemen– young and old elites alike– you’re most fortunate that I have chosen you all to be a part of my current venture: **to put your minds to the test.** ”

Riddler watched the people panic, some of them trying their best to escape the manor. Unfortunately for them, more henchman came out of the woodwork– burly, large, and more importantly: holding tommy guns.

“No sense in trying to leave just yet.” His voice boomed his smug satisfaction. “I would think even the most **dull witted** of you would know it’s much better to fair my riddles, than it would be to be **_riddled_ ** _yourselves._ ”

Nygma began climbing down the staircase, Echo and Query just a pace behind. The rogue went on.

“Now, **riddle me this** : _who here has the smarts to take me on_?”

“Two in one night? Lucky me.” Bruce muttered to himself, no longer so confident Bruce Wayne should handle the growing amount of unwanted guests on his own.

“Someone should call Batman and Robin, don’t you think?” Dick whispered urgently from behind him. Bruce nodded, and the two of them slipped away silently.

Meanwhile, Penguin had been startled when the lights had suddenly been extinguished. “ **_Weh!_ ** Who turned out the–” Penguin’s eyes grew wide, the shrimp puff he had been about to consume forgotten. He **knew** that voice. “The **_Riddler?_ **” He turned toward the voice and the only lights in the room, unable to see much over the panicking crowd.

“What the heck is **he** doin’ here?!” He growled, shoving his way through the crowd until he’d made his way front and center. Yup, there he was, the smug bastard himself. Penguin scowled up at him.

 **“Hey!** What’s the big idea! This is **my** gig, **get lost!”**

Edward Nygma went from unimpressed to amused by the sight of the other rogue. There, at five foot nothing down at the bottom of the Wayne Manor staircase… was the Penguin. When the man said he wished for a challenger, he meant that of _the cerebral kind_ . Then again, Nygma was beginning to have his doubts that the other member of Gotham’s criminal gallery would be able to hold a candle in regard to _physical prowess_ either.

Still, a challenger was a challenger– _and why not have fun putting on the good show he craved?_ Riddler held his smile, as he and his girls made their way down the steps, Echo and Query not needing the invitation to help him surround the smaller man. Smart girls– not as smart as HIM, mind you, but nobody ever could be.

“Ah, **your** gig, is it? Well, I had come to believe originally this was a Wayne Foundation event, before becoming the stage of **my own** .” He leaned down slightly, ready to dig in the knife of really showing the cretin how **insignificant** he was to him. “But **YOU** are…? I don’t recall seeing Wayne having invited **circus freaks** to his little shindig. **BUT** , who am **I** to deny all _sorts of people_ in on my games?”

Penguin had, momentarily, been distracted by the two women flanking him to pay much mind to anything _the Riddler_ had been saying. He caught a few words, though, and suddenly his lecherous grin melted back into a toothy scowl.

 **_“Circus freak?!_ ** Some nerve! **I** am a **_Cobblepot!”_ ** He jabbed the end of his umbrella into the Riddler’s chest. “And **you’re** steppin’ on my tailfeathers, here! Go play your stupid games somewhere else!”

“ _Stupid?_ ” Oh, now the little whelp was starting to annoy him. With a swipe of his arm, Riddler batted away the umbrella. “I’ll have you know that my **games** are far more advanced than anything you could begin to **dream of!** No more _pussyfooting around the subject_ , Penguin– **riddle me this:** _what is always on its way here, but never arrives?_ ”

And it was this that the man finished his inquiry with a snarl, beginning to circle the other villain very much like a panther sleeking its way around a bird that hadn’t enough wits to realize it was trapped. A very fitting analogy, seeing as Nygma wouldn’t hesitate to tell his goons to **shoot the man** should he answer incorrectly.

Penguin watched the man circle, his snarl quickly changing to a look of unhappy surprise. “That’s _it_ ? That’s really **all** you **_do_ ** ? I mean I **know** you call yourself _the Riddler,_ but I thought there was some sorta, I dunno, deadly traps or, wasn’t there a **maze** at one point? Is this what you do now, just go around askin’ people stupid riddles?”

He was almost disappointed. Here was the guy who’d come so close to blowing up the bat, a confirmed genius so smart he managed to fool Arkham’s doctors into believing he was sane, and **_this_ **was what he was doing with his life now? It was sad. Unless he was here to grab the cash, and this was just a way to make a simple robbery more interesting. … Actually, yeah, that seemed about right.

“So what do I get if I win the game? There some kind of _prize,_ or…?”

“You’ll get to **live** , for one.” Riddler growled, spotting a speck of lint on Penguin’s shoulder as he flicked it away with disdain. “ **BUT** , since I doubt there will be any way that you’d get an answer correct anyway– sure. **Why not?** Let us amp up the prize.”

And it was with this that the man finished his circling– now standing right in front of the shorter man where he began.

“Even the likes of **you** should be able to deduce why I’m here: _it’s green and it buys you all the status you could ever want._ ”

Nygma chose not to voice the fact it was also payback for Wayne having embarrassed him on live television. Ugh, better to **forget** that ever occurred at all. Riddler carried on.

“Answer my riddle, and I’ll let you walk away with the fortune. I’ll even have one of my men do the honor of escorting you out with it. Now, will you play my game, or should I have Echo shoot you now, so she can mount you on my wall?”

There were plenty of things Penguin would have allowed these ladies to do to him, but shooting him wasn’t one of them. Being shot was, decidedly, very un-sexy, even if the thought of her mounting him _anywhere_ , wasn’t. He made a mental note to ask which of them was Echo later, but for the time being, Riddler had brought up the one thing Penguin craved even more than women; _cold hard cash._

And not dying. He liked that a whole lot, too. Besides, he also appreciated the attention. The party goers were their captive audience, and all eyes were on them.

“ **Now** you’re talkin’! Uh let’s see, you said… somethin’ about… always on its way, but never shows up. … Is it, tomorrow? Y'know like in that one song? Tomorrow, tomorrow, somethin somethin, you’re always a day away.”

Edward Nygma had been watching the scene unfold with a smug sense of satisfaction– there was always something wonderful about having a crowd around as he was prepared to destroy another being. There was a certain **thrill** to knowing that the last thing a person would ever know was just how _inferior_ to him they were. That the last thing imprinted on their brains would be just how little their existence meant in the grand scheme of things. It was an art form, simple as that.

Riddler’s euphoric high, however, came crashing down– the blow nearly knocking him down as he stared with wide eyes at the man across from him.

“What did you say?” He didn’t need it repeated to him, for his hearing, like all else, was perfect and flawless. Instead he just watched the man with wide eyes, genuinely flabbergasted by what had happened. “How… How did you..?”

He grabbed the dwarfed man by the collar, snarling.

“You’ve clearly heard that one before! **Practically cheating!** Alright, **another!** _What is it that no man wants to_ **_have_ ** _but no man wants to_ **_lose_ ** _?_ “

Penguin **must** have heard **that** one before, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember where or when, because the answer sprung to mind instantly. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing on his mind now. His eyes trailed down to the hands gripping his collar, then back up to glare holes through Riddler’s mask  He scowled back at him.

 _“A lawsuit._ ” Penguin growled between clenched teeth. “And you’ll be losin’ more than **that** if you don’t **_get your filthy hands offa me!_ **” The slick metallic sound of a blade unsheathing from the end of his umbrella punctuated this threat, as he momentarily forgot he was surrounded by thugs who happened to have their guns trained on him.

Penguin got just what he asked for, as Riddler felt the room spinning. Dropping the other rogue– _squawking as Cobblepot landed on the hard floors of Wayne Manor_ – Nygma stumbled back a couple of steps. Echo and Query, clearly sensing something was amiss, came running over to the costumed criminal.

“Mr. Riddler?” Echo asked cautiously, as her fellow gal pal steadied the man. “You doing okay, boss? Should we just **shoot** the guy, **grab the cash** , an’ _vamoose_?”

Edward, however, heard none of this as he just stared blankly at the man on the floor. How? How was it possible for him to answer not one, but TWO of his riddles? Nygma knew enough about the guy to know he was SUPPOSED to be a **grade A buffoon**. He had heard the man ramble enough in Arkham to have gathered even THAT much. And yet… Here he was, stealing his thunder and slashing his ego to ribbons!

What, had his airs of stupidity been a farce all this time? Was it meant to lure even the likes of HE into a false sense of security– and even worse, had he fallen for it? Oh, oh no. Not **him!** Not Edward E. Nygma! And it was this new sense of feeling like he had been humiliated that Riddler snapped out of his trance, ripping himself from the arms of his lackies. Gripping his trademark question mark cane above his head.

“HOW **DARE YOU** TRY AND MAKE ME INTO **SOME KIND OF FOOL!** ”

It was then the villain let out a beastly roar as he swung at Penguin with all his might.

While Penguin definitely wasn’t expecting to be attacked, his reflexes were sharp, and he brought his umbrella up to block the cane, staring in wild disbelief.

“ **_What gives!”_ ** He squawked angrily. “I **answered** your stupid riddles, what more do you **want** from me!” He shoved the Riddler’s cane away, hard, and scrambled to his feet. He took a few steps back, but kept the umbrella blade pointed at his assailant. He’d fight if the Riddler seriously had it in him… but it felt _wrong_ somehow to slice up a guy who _clearly_ was no match for him.

If Riddler had been deterred by the man fighting back, it didn’t show as he went in for another swing– it too clashing with the umbrella’s blade.

“You weren’t supposed to **KNOW THE ANSWERS**!” This was yet again screamed in rage, as the people in the crowd gasped and backed away from the violent show. Like Moses and the Red Sea, the people parted– doing their best to avoid the blows as the control Nygma had over the situation broke into chaos. Another swing, another dodge– Riddler found himself momentarily giving the gremlin credit for his speed, before it too was drowned out by his growing frustration.

This time Riddler’s cane came crashing into one of Wayne’s vintage vases– shards shattering and flying everywhere as the taller man demanded answers of a different persuasion.

“WHY WON’T YOU **HOLD STILL** , YOU **_MISERABLE_ ** _LITTLE CRETIN?!_ ”

He was **_serious!_ ** This guy was actually trying to bash his brains in! And calling him a cretin on top of that? Oh, that was the last straw. Riddler wanted a fight? Oswald Cobblepot would gladly **give** him a fight. Dodging another blow, the stout man sprung into the air with seemingly impossible grace, landing on the buffet table, snacks and an entire crystal bowl of punch scattered and clattered to the floor, but he barely noticed. His hateful glare was busy burning holes into the green-clad goof he was about to murder.

“You’re gonna **regret** crashin’ **this** party, Riddler.” And with that he pounced, launching himself from the table, blade raised and ready to slice off whatever he could. **“If you** **_live,_ ** **that i–** **_hooup!”_ **

His attack was cut abruptly short as something wrapped around his ankle and yanked, causing him to crash into the floor mere inches from Edward.

“That’s enough. I get the feeling _neither_ of you were on the guest list this evening.”

Penguin, chin sore from smashing into the floor, and winded, looked back to see Batman. Of course it had to be Batman. Penguin growled, and sliced through the thin rope wrapped around his leg, scrambling to his feet in a hurry. He shoved Riddler toward the caped crusader, and ran for the exit.

Whatever was left of Riddler’s ego was shattered all the more, as the Dark Knight swiftly passed off the likes of Nygma off onto his young protege.

“Take care of Riddler, _I’m going after Penguin._ ”

And like that, Batman was off, leaving the rogue with the Boy Wonder. Oh, oooh no. Nygma was the Prince of Puzzlers, and he would NOT be treated like some second fiddle to some flightless felon. And it was with his rage of his evening not having gone anywhere according to plan, that Riddler– arms pinned to his side by Robin– slammed his head back into the masked vigilante’s nose.

Robin cried out in pain and surprise, his wits momentarily lost as Edward broke free. It was with quick scrambling that the man went for his cane. He would fight back! He would prevail! He would–

Instantly get tackled to the ground, his own face slamming into the marble floor– the sound of teeth cracking being the last thing Riddler heard. Robin glared down– swiping the stream of blood from his nose onto the back of his gloved fist.

“ _Nighty Night,_ **_Nygma_ ** **.** ”

* * *

 

Meanwhile, now out in the streets of the city, Batman continued to chase Cobblepot by foot. The villain was fast, hopping from roofs of cars to limbs of trees with ease. To most people they would be surprised by just how maneuverable the smaller man could be, but the Dark Knight had learned a long time ago that looks could be deceiving. No, instead he focused on the chase, his hand traveling to his utility belt and he went for his batarang, aiming for where he assumed Penguin would try to perch next.

He had been correct, as the clang of metal on wood was enough to throw the rogue off his game, squawking as he fell to the blacktop of the street.

“ _End of the line_ , Penguin. You’re going back to Arkham where you belong.”

The pain that resulted from smacking into the pavement would have, under other circumstances, been enough to make the rogue give up. But the thought of going back to Arkham gave him a second, determined wind. Penguin sat up, but was immediately grabbed by the front of his shirt and hoisted up.

 **“I** **_ain’t_ ** **goin’ back there!** ” A powerful, two-footed mule kick to Batman’s stomach was enough to get the vigilante to let go. Penguin managed to land on his feet this time, although stumbling slightly, and backed up, reaching into his coat for an explosive projectile to affix to the end of his umbrella weapon. He clicked it into place, but before he could aim, Batman’s batarang rope wrapped around it.

 **“No!”** Penguin squawked, yanking back, before realizing he was being dragged toward the hero, his feet skidding and scarping across the pavement. **“Fine,** you can **have** it!” He clicked a button on its handle and let go of it.

Batman caught the umbrella before it smacked him in the face, but the way the penguin-shaped projectile on the end was beeping, its beady little eyes flashing red, was worrying. He chucked it into the air moments before the entire thing exploded, raining down bits of fabric and metal. Batman watched as the criminal disappeared into the distance.

* * *

 

Penguin was exhausted, but he was still a free bird, and that’s what mattered. His home was still a ways away, and he’d just had his transportation explode. He spotted a nearby bench, and collapsed onto it.

“Just a quick rest.” He assured himself, breathlessly. His rest was quickly interrupted, however, when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. His head whipped toward it, and his blood ran cold when he watched the bench’s armrest morph into a monstrous hand before his very eyes.

 _“Oh no, not again!”_ He cried out; he was hallucinating again, that damn fear gas! Talk about bad timing. His screams rang out into the night as the hands closed in.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, the police were loading a still unconscious Riddler into the back of their van, Batman and Robin watching nearby. They’d need to return to what was left of the fundraiser party soon, but they also needed to make sure the Riddler was taken back to Arkham.

“Penguin’s still on the loose, huh?” Robin muttered.

“Yes. But I’m not too worried; he doesn’t seem to stray far from his perch. We’ll find him.”

 **“Hey!”** They both turned toward the unfortunately familiar voice. Plastic-Man was strolling down the street, one hand enlarged and wrapped around a dazed looking Penguin like a giant baseball glove. **“You guys lose somethin’?”** He grinned, lifting the captured criminal into the air, and pointing up at him with his other hand.

“Speak of the devil.” Robin smirked.

“Nice work, O'Brian. The police can take it from here.” Batman tilted his head toward the van.

“Aw, it was _nothin’!”_ Plastic-Man insisted with a wave of his hand, expression openly bashful. He stretched his arm over to the van and handed over Penguin to the mildly uncomfortable-looking officers. “I just _happened_ to be in the area, and thought you could use a hand!”

Batman and Robin stared deadpan as Plastic-Man waved his still ridiculously enlarged hand and grinned, waiting for them to laugh at his pun. It didn’t take long before he realized they weren’t going to. His hand deflated along with his grin.

“No? Nothin’?”

“Uh, hey, why don’t you join the party? Er, what’s left of it, anyway.” Robin scratched his head sheepishly, and gestured back toward the mansion. Robin purposely ignored the glare this earned him from Batman.

“A _party?_ In a **_mansion?!_ ** Why didn’t you **say** so! I mean, _don’t mind if I_ **_do.”_ **

Robin watched as he practically sprinted toward the mansion, and glanced up at Batman, who was rubbing his forehead in an obvious sign of dread.

“Aw, c'mon, he deserves it. Without him, we never would have–”

“Yes. I know. It’s fine. Speaking of the party, should we…?”

“Yeah, I guess. I, er, _Dick_ still owes someone a dance.”

And with that, Batman and Robin vanished into the night, as the police van headed off toward Arkham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art, as always, made by the fanciest bird of them all: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	28. Redolent of Thee and Thine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on the other side of Gotham, Jervis Tetch attempts to share his affections with the man he loves-- with mixed results. The Scarecrow, meanwhile, has other things on his mind...

While a party was busy being crashed and taken over by unwanted guests, a more private affair was happening on the other side of Gotham. The abandoned hat factory was quiet and serene, nestled amongst other long since forgotten industrial buildings. While the outside spoke of winter chills, inside was a different matter.

The inhabitants, the likes of Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch, were busy watching a film on their television. Having been closer to the city, it was practically child’s play for Jervis to catch a signal from Gotham’s Public Broadcasting Station. That night was an airing of Casablanca, a romantic classic– and one Jervis had seen numerous times.

However, the choice in film had hardly mattered to him. No, it was merely a part of the setting, a piece to add to the mood of intimacy he had been desperately trying to create. It had taken some time for the Englishman to try working up the nerve of attempting to sweep his paramour off his metaphorical feet. While Jervis had always been an affectionate man, things felt different when there was… well, an **intent** there. A desire to test the waters of their relationship in a way that hadn’t been breached before. The excitement of it had left Jervis feeling daunted, a couple times sleep having escaped him as he became hyper aware of Jonathan’s body next to him. (Just like he was aware of it **now** – the professor sitting with a bored tilt of his head on their love-seat, staring straight ahead at the television.)

Yet… nothing more than him being on edge had occurred. His cowardice at this sort of intimacy feeling like it hung heavy in the air. Surely Jonathan, the Master of Fear himself, had to be aware of his plight? Of every tremble of his voice as he attempted to press onward, trying his best to flirt and throw an innuendo only for it to die before it could escape his tongue. The man, _his sweet and understanding Jonathan_ , had to have **known** and merely chose to let him be for his own pride and grace.

Jervis couldn’t help but feel that maybe all of this would have been easier if the professor would simply come out and ask him. Looking him in the eyes, and demand that the Englishman simply stop beating around the bush and say or do what he wanted.

Ah, but tonight…This would change. His plan had been set into motion, he had been able to convince Jonathan to spend the evening with him instead of in his study– lost among the fumes of his chemicals. Perhaps he could sense this change, as the charming quirk of his brow at the notion was met with a warm smile. **Yes** , he had joined him, and there they were, nestled as the calming familiar lines of the movie hit Tetch like waves of nostalgia. Yet, despite it all, his heart thundered in his chest.

 

> _“Play it once Sam, for old time’s sake.”_

**Badum.**

> _“ I came to Casablanca for the waters.”_
> 
> _“ Waters?! We’re in a DESERT!”_
> 
> _“I was misinformed.”_

**Badum badum.**

> _“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”_

Jervis swallowed thickly, his palms sweating enough to feel uncomfortable through the cotton of his gloves. He was running out of time, he needed to act fast, as the movie would soon be nearing towards its closure. There was a plan, remember that, old boy. Do something…. anything!

“…A bit on the chilly side tonight, isn’t it, dear? Are you faring well?”

Hatter felt foolish as the words left his mouth. The room was quite warm and snug, though how much of that was from his own nerves was impossible to tell. Still, Jonathan’s relaxed posture, and the fact he wasn’t in his telltale state of arms crossed was enough to know the man was well accommodated.

At first, Jervis’ words were barely heard, mistaken as words being quoted from the movie Jonathan had long since stopped paying attention to. It was only from noticing the expectant glance he was being given that he deduced he had actually been asked a question.

“Oh. … I’m quite comfortable, actually.” Crane raised a brow, and gave the man beside him a lookover. It was _unusual_ for **Jervis** to be cold, when he himself wasn’t. “You aren’t _falling ill,_ are you?” He asked, tone unfittingly accusatory for the situation, leaning away from him slightly. The last thing they needed was for **both** of them to fall sick.

“ **Ah!** N-no,” Jervis quickly assured, laughing a bit too hard as he waved off the other man’s concern. “I’m right as rain, tip top shape, why, _I’ve never been better!_ ”

Well, clearly that was a lie. It wouldn’t take much to garner that from how he was acting. At this, Jervis decided to at least let on a **little** – _for weren't the best lies coated with just a smidgen of truth?_

“Admittedly, I have been feeling a… bit on **edge** , as of late. My nerves a bit flightier than I would like. **But** I assure you, love, _physically_ I am well. You needn’t fear me catching something dreadful.”

Nothing more dreadful than obsessive thoughts plaguing his existence, in any case.

Yes, Crane had definitely noticed. In fact, Jervis’ agitated state had only seemed to grow **_worse_ ** since his little visit to Harleen and Ivy’s residence. He had done his best to ignore it, as Jervis didn’t seem at all interested in discussing it with him, but now that the subject had been breached, well. Suddenly Jervis’ psyche was far more interesting than any movie had any chance of being. He turned his attention to his partner fully, turning his upper half toward him, elbow resting on the back of the seat.

“Yes, _I’ve noticed_ . Care to discus **_why_ ** you’ve been feeling so… out of sorts? Is it the quickly approaching holidays? Any, _repressed holiday-inspired traumatic memories_ I should know about?”

Even Crane was aware he sounded a little _too_ excited over the prospect of it all.

Jonathan’s intensity was enough to make the Englishman snort from the absurdity of it.

“I believe I’ve mentioned before that my childhood was perfectly normal. **However** , I’ll be sure to keep you on the up-and-up should anything holiday related _disturb my mood._ ” Jervis said this in jest, despite it being the truth on the matter. No, what he wanted to say was far from childhood traumas. That he had sought out help, and that he was curious enough to try and meet the man’s own needs. Or at the very least open up with a line or two addressing commentary Jonathan had given him about how he left the man aching with desires, and ask if, perhaps, he might have had trouble since that required aid.

None of this was voiced, and instead he gave out a shaky sigh.

“Perhaps my mood is simply being affected by withdraws?” Hatter threw out with a shrug. “I was left in a rather unfortunate state the **last time** we took a holiday, after all.”

It was a lie, but one that could be readily believed.

“Ah, yes.” Jonathan replied with a sigh, obviously disappointed. He turned back toward their television, staring at the screen in boredom.

“That will do it, I suppose. Let me know if you need _the gang_ to visit and lift your spirits.” His neutral frown deepened into one of actual distaste. _“Preferably_ **_without_ ** _Nygma, but if he_ **_must._ ** _..”_ he muttered.

A wave of fondness for the man next to him ended up clumping in his stomach– the heaviness of guilt settling in. Jonathan was **worried** , Jonathan wanted the **best** for him, and yet… all of this could be simply cleared away if **only** he would be honest about the situation.

“I very much appreciate the sentiments,” Jervis decided on saying, looking back at the film as well. “However… I don’t believe that’s necessary. I am more than content with just **your** company, _I assure you._ ”

Tetch put emphasis on the words, using the chance to lean closer to his partner. It wasn’t the most romantic of pick-up lines, but it was more than he had been able to manage as of late. His presence hadn’t been buffered, and this was just the encouragement he needed. Eyes still focused onto the screen, Jervis began moving his arm so as to casually stretch it around the other man.

Unfortunately for them both, the Englishman had gravely miscalculated, as he ended up smacking the man in the face instead– Crane hissing from the action.

“ **Jonathan!** _I am **so** sorry!"_  Whatever resolve Jervis had was quickly smothered, as he watched his love cover his eye. “ _I, I was trying to-I didn’t_ ** _mean_** _\- !!"_

The surprise of being swatted in the eye quickly bubbled into uncontainable amusement as soon as Jervis began to fret. Jonathan couldn’t nor did he try to stop the chuckle that escaped his throat.

“Going straight for my eyes! My, my, Tetch; perhaps you’re more of a _tactical_ fighter than I’d first assumed. _Although might I suggest trying for my_ **_throat_ ** _next time._ ” He punctuated this with another snicker, smirking at Jervis in the darkness, despite still having a hand clamped over his sore eye.

Jervis’ face flushed from embarrassment, even though he found himself beyond relieved that the man hadn’t been angry over the incident. No, instead, Jonathan was busy pestering him– _a sure enough sign that he was well._

“I’ll keep that in mind, should you **continue** with your _relentless teasing._ ” Huffiness returned to regret, as Jervis gently wrap a hand around the bony wrist that was still cradling the injured eye. “You aren’t seriously hurt, are you, love? I really **do** feel awful for this, here, **please** … let me look you over.”

“I’m **_fine.”_ ** Crane assured him, amusement still evident in both his tone and smile. He took his hand away and blinked a few times. It still burned, but was otherwise fine.

“You see? Not a scratch.” He was about to add that, if Jervis _really wanted to_ , he could give him the full nurse treatment, anyway. But memories of laying in Jervis’ lap, his hair being stroked as he gazed up into those soft blue eyes, caused a warm swell of emotion in his chest that extinguished that line of thought immediately. Instead he said,

“I guess you’ll need to try **harder** next time.”

This, of course, earned the man a genuine swat– causing Crane to cackle all the more. The mood for the night may have been ruined from a more seductive front, yet, as Jervis leaned himself back against the other man– nerves nowhere to be seen as he was allowed the pleasure of relaxing– he couldn’t find it in himself to be disheartened by the turn of events.

Besides… _there was always another day._

* * *

 

Another day just so happened to be the following. It was just after lunch, Jervis and Jonathan having both finished up their bowls of crawl and afternoon tea. Stomach’s still needing to settle– and neither having no rush to get back to work quite yet, as the cold season left the both of them homebodies– the two decided to pull out a chessboard Jervis had made sure to procure from their last hideout.

It didn’t take long to set up, and the two found themselves back in their natural rhythm– Jervis taking on the black pieces so as to allow his partner the courtesy of going first. Pieces danced across the board, the game feeling more as a background distraction as the two conversed.

“You know,” Jonathan began, wistfully. “It’s almost _regrettable_ we missed seeing Nygma go toe-to-toe with Cobblepot. And even **more** so that it was _interrupted._ **Either** outcome would have been _wonderfully delightful_ , if you ask me.”

He’d been thinking about this on and off ever since they’d heard about it on the news. It did his spirits good to know they were both back in Arkham… even if that _did_ mean there was the slight chance Jervis would insist on retrieving at least _one_ of them eventually.

While Crane had found amusement from it, Hatter certainly hadn’t.

“ _Really now_ , Jonathan, I know you’re hardly an admirer of either of them.” At this he paused, frowning as his partner only seemed to smile all the more. “ **However** , I don’t think this behavior should be **encouraged** . _Why_ , imagine if this were to lead to fractions within the rogue community– the likes of us forced to choose sides in solidarity as all of Gotham turns into utter chaos!”

His concern was cut off short as he caught the glint in Crane’s eyes, no doubt he was imagining all the fear such an event would have on the general populace more so than the squabbling amongst friends. And at this the Englishman sighed, despite his own fluttering feelings he tended to have over Jonathan’s mischief. Jervis slide his rook across the tiles as he snatched up one of his opponent’s pawns.

“Well, _in any case_ , I only hope the two Tweedles can hash out their differences, lest some monstrous crow need to frighten them back into proper shape.” Whom the crow in the case would **be** , he hadn’t the foggiest idea. But he was sure **none** involved would appreciate if it had to be the Red Knight himself.

“Oh I would **_gladly_ ** volunteer for **that** privilege.” Crane replied, far too thrilled with the idea of gassing Nygma to be upset over his piece being taken. “Though I’m not so sure how _Oswald_ would _fare_ being exposed to my toxins a **second** time, I don’t think he was ever treated for–”

His amused smirk faltered then, his eyes darting around the room in mild panic as he remembered Jervis hadn’t been aware of his and Pamela’s trip to Oswald’s mansion. Quick, think of a distraction.

“Have I ever told you how stunning your eyes are?”

Every part of Jonathan cringed at the uncharacteristically honest compliment, made only worse by the fact it was completely out of nowhere, but a distraction was a distraction.

Jervis had been prepared to chide Crane over the **idea** of using fear toxin on friends– when he was successfully distracted before he could begin to think about the implications on what the professor had meant by _‘second time’_ towards Oswald. Instead he felt his insides flutter at the compliment, as well as being reminded of the last time Jonathan had mentioned his eyes.

“Actually, _yes_. You **did** mention it once or twice before.” The Englishman smiled softly, recalling the instance as Crane moved a knight to capture one of his own. “At the time I had assumed you were just teasing your _poor nursemaid_ – though, I suppose you never **did** mention that they were _stunning_ , now did you? No, you merely listed them as features I had– _which I couldn’t argue against_.”

At this Jervis used the time to inch his pawn another tile, going back to looking at the man across from him as he sheepishly gazed at him through his lashes.

“I happen to be a fan of your eyes as well, you know. Sometimes when the light catches them just so, they light up into an amber hue. _It’s quite captivating._ ”

Feeling bold, Hatter inched his foot closer toward his partner, lightly nudging him from under the table.

Was **this** what he’d been reduced to? Swapping romantic dribble from across a chess board? Yes. Being complimented was unknown territory for Crane, and therefore slightly awkward, but it was also a nice feeling. Of course, this was so ridiculous he couldn’t help but find _some_ humor in it. But the best part? It was times like this that Scarecrow was nowhere to be found, driven away, made uncomfortable by Jonathan’s insistent comfort.

And, oh? Had that nudge been intentional? Surely not. Surely a _grown man_ wouldn’t attempt to initiate _“footsies”_. But that wasn’t reason enough to stop him from silently teasing the man about it, anyway. He reciprocated the most likely unintentional gesture by lightly rubbing the side of his foot against the prodding foot under the table. He leaned forward over the board, game momentarily forgotten, and grinned devilishly.

_“Then perhaps I should spend more time in the light from now on?”_

“I wouldn’t be **opposed** to the idea.” Jervis replied, his own grin slightly growing at the returned touch. Watching the man across from him through sideways glances, the Englishman gave a soft hum of thought as he let his fingers toy with the hard wood of one of his chess pieces. Hatter carried on with his amorous talk, his voice tinged with his own mischievous whimsy. “It would certainly allow me to take in your **other** features I appreciate, as well. I wouldn’t want the rest of you to feel **unloved** _, now would I?_ ”

As if to punctuate his point, Jervis took advantage of the fact their table forced them into a close proximity– purposefully allowing his covered ankle to slide against Jonathan’s own. _Very forward of him_ , he had to admit, but one must take advantage of situations where they could before nerves decided to catch up with him and stop their play altogether.

Jervis’ flirting hit its mark, and instantly soured Jonathan’s mood. Nothing had changed, Jervis still had a habit of wording innocent things in a way that implied things he didn’t mean in the slightest. Jervis was being sweet, _romantic,_ and Jonathan’s twisted mind still found ways to turn it into something perverse. The physical affection only made things worse.

Jonathan did his best to not hold it against the man; he had no desire to be intimate in that way, and Jonathan respected that. In fact, Jonathan wasn’t even sure he’d know how to handle the situation if he **did**. But none of that stopped his body from disobeying all reason and logic to proudly declare what it wanted.

“ _Oh no,_ we wouldn’t want _that._ ” Crane’s tone had turned from amused and flirty, to annoyed and sarcastic as he slid his piece across the board, and he immediately felt guilty for it. That hadn’t been intentional.

Suddenly, _and perhaps mercifully_ , a ball of feathers thunked down onto their game board, scattering chess pieces across the table, and some onto the floor. Jonathan sat up abruptly, pressing his back against the back of his chair in reflexive startlement. Nevar ruffled his feathers and let out a loud, insistent caw, three seeds falling from his beak to clatter against the board.

“You’re _late_ ; we’ve already **eaten.** ” Jonathan muttered to the bird.

Jonathan hadn’t been the only one startled by the sudden intrusion, as outside of a gasp Jervis had been made momentarily mute from surprise. Hatter, finally getting his wits about him, found himself unnaturally agitated at Nevar.

“That is NO way to make yourself known, _you wicked little beast!_ ”

Anger at having both mood and game ruined was quick to dissipate, as the crow cawed and hopped closer to the agitated Englishman. Huffing, Jervis nonetheless gave into Nevar as he began his usual habit of laying affections upon him– this time picking him off the board as he pet and berated the bird.

“Oh, you ought to get bopped for such manners. Look at the mischief you’ve caused!” Nevar, almost as if understanding, turned his head to blink curiously at the board. “Now, I’ll forgive you, but you really **do** need to apologize to Jonathan for having spoiled our game.” Jervis placed the bird back on the table, lightly tapping his tail-feathers in encouragement. “Go on now, _don’t keep him waiting._ ”

It was pure nonsense– even Hatter knew this– but a diversion from his frustrations over what _(hadn’t)_ occurred was dearly needed.

Jonathan crossed his arms and raised a brow as Nevar hopped his way back across the board, stopping only long enough to pick up one of the seeds he’d left. Once over to his side, the bird perched on the edge of the table, and carefully dropped the seed into his master’s lap, peering up at him with expectant, beady eyes.

Crane only stared at the bird for a while with a frown. He wasn’t upset with the bird at all; it was merely fun to play along. Nevar kept staring back, not breaking his gaze for a second, and Crane was both impressed and insulted. Without a word, the man reached down and plucked the seed from his lap, stuck it into his mouth, and chewed, never taking his eyes from Nevar.

“Oh!” cried the bird, excitedly, presumably taking the gesture to mean his apology had been accepted. “Oh!” He repeated, hopping once and turning to look at Jervis, as if to make sure he, too, had bore witness to the silent acceptance.

Witnessed he did, as the Englishman stared at his paramour in disbelief. He had… he had just **eaten** what had been in the **bird’s** –

If the mood **hadn’t** been ruined before, it certainly was **now**. Jervis covered his eyes, shaking his head at the senselessness of it all.

“ _What in heaven’s name am I going to_ **_DO_ ** _with you two…_ ”

* * *

 

A day passed, and with it had been no other attempts from Jervis Tetch in trying to enamor the man he shared his home with. Jonathan had seemed particularly focused on his work that evening, it having been a struggle just to get the man out of his study for dinner a few hours prior. Still, that was the life one comes to expect when you fall in love with an academic– something Jervis had come to realize there would be times he simply couldn’t coax the man from his calculations.

However, it was nearing 3 am, and Jervis gave his pocket-watch a lookover as he closed his book he was reading with an audible snap. Picking himself up from his seat, he went over to the radio to turn off the classical music he had been playing in the background. (Saint-Saëns– [' _Le coucou au fond des bois_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dLaAJtUO9co) [’, the Carnival of Animals.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dLaAJtUO9co)) A sigh escaped him, as Hatter looked back at Jonathan’s study– light seeping out from under the door. While there was, of course, the thought that maybe he should let him be… the mother hen inside him worried and thought it proper to _at least_ warn the man of the time– should it be a simple case of having been made unaware.

And it was with this thought he moved towards the door. Yes, surely **that** was his motivation and not from his own sense of selfishness that it would be **nice** to see the professor before he became a part of the Red King’s dream. The entry of the study had been left slightly ajar, he found, and this was invite enough for Jervis to slowly push the door open– knocking only once his head was able to peek inside.(And doing so led him to see his love dressed in his Scarecrow attire, hunched over his notes.)

“Jonathan, do you mind if I disturbed you for a moment?”

“Mmnnnyes, go on, what is it?” Scarecrow replied, distractedly, not looking away from his notes. He’d been pouring over plan after plan for hours, all day, all night. He’d tossed away ideas for exploding balloons filled with his toxins, utilizing Gotham’s rampant rat problem to spread his chemicals in a viral form, contaminating the local candy factory… among others. They’d all been scrapped, and with each crumpled paper tossed into the waste bin, his frustration only grew.

The truth was, while Jonathan Crane was content to sit out the winter months cuddled and cozy in their little den, _Scarecrow was growing restless_. He craved to see terror dawn in someone’s eyes once again… oh, how he’d missed it. He missed the screaming, the panic, the controlled chaos he reigned over. It was an addiction, and he’d gone far too long without.

While the fact Jonathan hadn’t bothered to look away from his notes left the man worried, the fact he responded at all was encouragement enough for Jervis as he pressed on– opening the door all the more as the Englishman made his way deeper inside the room.

“I’m just coming in to let you know that I’ll be heading to bed– especially considering the hour.” He made his way over towards his partner, gently placing a hand on his back, as he smiled down at him. “ **Now** , I know you’re rather busy, but should you require a **break** from your ‘ _volumes of forgotten lore_ ’, I merely wished to extend the invitation to join me. _Your company would be_ **_quite welcomed._ **”

The last bit came out as a purr, and while unintentional, it did punctuate Tetch’s desire in this case: he wanted Jonathan _with_ him. **In bed.** In whatever form the man would take him.

Scarecrow tensed under the hand on his back, his attention successfully captured.

_HE’S TOUCHING ME. JONATHAN._

Jonathan didn’t respond.

 _DOESN’T HE USUALLY_ **_RESPECT_ ** _THE FACT WE DON’T LIKE TO LIE IN BED WITH HIM UNTIL HE IS ASLEEP? … JONATHAN!_

Nothing. Jonathan was gone, he’d been Scarecrow for too long again. Dread began to set in.

_YOU LEFT ME ALONE WITH YOUR PERSISTENT PARAMOUR?! TYPICAL._

So now he would have to pretend, he would have to be Jonathan Crane. No problem. He could manage that for a few short moments.

“I’m. Busy, currently, _dear.”_ Nailed it. “I will join you later, **_as per usual.”_ ** Okay, got a little rough at the end, but he still had this.

The slight gruffness of the man’s tone was enough to deter Jervis from persisting- as he removed his hand from Crane’s person.

“Right. Of course, _as per usual_ .” Whatever feelings from the setback he had were quickly covered with another beam, though his tired state prevented it from meeting his eyes as his more genuine smiles allowed for. “In any case, I’m off to bed then. _Good night, my love._ ”

And, despite the ridiculousness of the act, the Englishman bent down to kiss the burlap cheek of the Scarecrow mask– more than prepared to let the subject be for another day.

Scarecrow’s eye twitched at the sensation of being smooched. The Scarecrow was willing to put up with a lot, but the Mad Hatter had just gone too far. All politeness, all pretending, was thrown out the window as rage consumed him.

“DON’T **_DO_ ** THAT!” The specter stood and faced Jervis so suddenly it caused the chair to topple over and clatter against the floor. Clawed fingers tightened into fists at his sides as he glared down at Jonathan’s cuddle buddy.

“I AM **NOT** YOUR _LITTLE LOVESICK FOOL!_ I AM THE SCARECROW, I AM FEAR INCARNATE, AND YOU _WILL RESPECT ME_ **, OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES!”**

The Scarecrow stepped toward Jervis now.

“ _Oh,_ yes. I’ve been **looking** for a reason to use my toxins on _you_ . How I would delight in seeing the terror dawn in **your** eyes. **_Your_ ** screams are the **most** delicious. So please, by all means, **_CONTINUE TO MOCK ME.”_ **

He bent over slightly, so his own face was half an inch away from Jervis’.

 **_“Give me an excuse.”_ **He growled

Jervis found himself backing away, eyes wide in panic at the sudden change in demeanor and threat from the taller man. He had seen this ire against others before, but never had the tables been turned on HIM.

“ _I… I’m_ **_sorry_ ** _, Jonathan. I never meant to_ **_offend._ **” The Hatter’s throat felt like it was clenching in on itself, his voice hitching from pure fear. He attempted to back up again, Scarecrow following until Jervis felt the wall against his back. He was trapped, his own confusion and startlement  keeping him from even seeking a means of escape.

Sick excitement bubbled up through Scarecrow, exiting through a dark chuckle. He leaned forward, placing one hand against the wall beside Jervis, cutting him off from the exit.

“Cornered, ** _frightened,_** ah yes. In **this** light, I can _certainly understand_ what Jonathan _sees_ in you.” With his other hand, he traced a gentle line down the bridge of Jervis’ nose with the claw on his index finger.

Even through his twisted delight, there sat a lingering feeling of unease. A feeling of something isn’t right. A feeling of revulsion, shame. And, like a bolt through his head, reality came crashing back.

 _He was deriving perverted pleasure from eliciting suffering from someone he cared for._ He didn’t **want** to see Jervis Tetch suffer.

 _OH, JONATHAN, SO_ **_NICE_ ** _OF YOU TO FINALLY JOIN US, HEHEHEH…_

And this was the last thing the Scarecrow would get to say this night, as Jonathan backed away from his frightened partner, and reached up to yank the mask from his head, whipping it across the room like it had just bitten him. He turned back toward Jervis, panic and concern reflecting in his eyes.

“Jervis, you’re alright, aren’t you? I apologize, I didn’t. That wasn’t. _Are you hurt?”_

He fretted from a safe distance, still feeling sick over the thoughts he had just a moment before, not yet feeling he deserved to get any closer.

Jervis, during this event, had found himself forgetting to breathe. He had completely gone still as the claw trailed down his face– his eyes following should this unexpected Boojum go from toying to making due on his threat. And just like that, the beast was gone, Jonathan having backed away, ripping the mask off and throwing it asunder. The Englishman’s gaze couldn’t help but follow, flinching from the movement even as he watched his would-be assailant get slain.

No, not the mask, **Jonathan** . And it was with that thought that Jervis jerked his head back to the man in question. While still shaken, seeing the familiar face of the one he loved– _as well as the remorse found there_ – was enough to at least motivate Hatter into speaking.

“I…” Jervis dared to swallow, greedily taking in another breath as he tried to find his wits. “I’m fine. **Rattled,** _but fine._ ” He stayed in place, not yet daring to leave the safety of the wall. “What… just happened, **exactly?** ”

It was the only sane query that came to mind. Tetch didn’t need to be a psychologist to know it was _some sort of episode_ , apparently triggered by **him** . That thought was enough to give the frightened man his own sense of remorse, as he knew _his Jonathan_ wouldn’t have hurt him if he hadn’t done whatever it was he had done.

Jonathan broke eye contact, glancing back over to the mask that lay crumpled on the floor. It was finally time, then, finally it had become necessary for Jervis to be aware that he and Scarecrow were _not_ one and the same.

“As I’m sure you know…” he began slowly, hesitantly. “the mind has a _plethora of ways_ of dealing with… unfortunate, traumatic events. **My** mind dealt with _a lifetime of traumatic events_ by _splitting itself in two.”_

Jonathan turned back to look at Jervis, and held out one hand as a visual aid to what he said next.

“Jonathan Crane. The pathetic, frightened, unwanted child I’ve always been; unable to even stand up for himself. Intelligent but weak, fraught with emotions he can _barely even_ **_control._ ** **”** He held out his other hand. “And, the Scarecrow. All powerful, fearless, a beast to be feared, _respected_ , **_obeyed_ **. The Scarecrow is confidence, revenge, and what is left of my dignity.”

Jonathan sighed, his hands dropped to dangle at his sides. He bowed his head and shook it slowly, closing his eyes.

“But he is also endlessly cruel, _unbound_ by pity or remorse. And for that, I apologize.” He looked back up now, eyes seeming to plead with Jervis to understand.

“I’m usually **_here_ ** to **quell** his cruel urges, but tonight, I. I haven’t been quite myself all day. I’m glad you came in tonight, even if I **do** regret what he may have done to you. Sometimes it can be _hard_ to remember who I am. I get **lost** in the feeling of **power** he provides, and I start to forget why I hold on to this part of myself at all. But you… you remind me, Jervis. You remind me why Jonathan Crane is still needed. So thank you.”

Jervis listened to Jonathan’s speech silently, not daring to interrupt. It… was a lot to take in. Not something he **judged** , mind you. **Yet** … it was very much like the notion of having thought one knew a story frontwards and backwards, only to find out later that there was a deleted chapter than had been omitted for one reason or another. Analogies about Carroll and his deletion of ‘The Wasp’ chapter aside, the feeling within Jervis was very much the same– a sense of excitement of having been made witness to something that not everyone would be privy of. Though, quite naturally, this knowledge was tainted– _like the painting of white roses red_ – by yet another piece to the puzzle of Jonathan’s past.

And, most importantly, his suffering.

Hatter peeled himself from the wall, slowly making his way closer towards his partner. He fiddled with his hands, a dreadful side effect from the adrenaline that had been pumping through him– leaving him with an access of energy. Energy that would **not do** for such an intimate moment.

Jervis, perhaps foolishly, reached out to gently touch the hand that Scarecrow had used to threaten him– causing Jonathan to look him in the eyes. The wince the man gave only made Jervis’ sorrow grow, as he couldn’t help but voice the one question he felt coming for a long time:

“… _Who hurt you, Jonathan?_ ”

This question caused Jonathan to smile bitterly, taking Jervis’ hand in his own, despite still feeling filthy for doing so.

“ _My mother_ was the **first** , but certainly not the _worst._ I’ll tell you the tale if you truly wish to hear it, _most of it is on public record anyway,_ but I propose I do so betwixt our covers. It’s late, I presume. We could both use sleep about now.”

Sleep was now the last thing on the Englishman’s mind, and probably wouldn’t be something that came easily to his frazzled nerves. A part of Jervis wished to make a cup of tea instead, to have the hot liquid warm and soothe him the way he desperately needed. However, caffeine so close to bed would just keep him up later. _Bah_ , none of that mattered **now**. The allure of finally being able to talk with Jonathan before sleep took them both won out over tea, as Jervis nodded his head slowly.

“Sleep… may take some time for me. But you know I’m never one to turn down a story, Dormouse. Even if it **is** ‘ _a long and sad tale_ ’.” Jervis smiled despite the situation, more so to show Crane he would forgive him for what had transpired. He gave the man’s hand a squeeze, before letting go and heading towards the door. Jervis threw one last look to the Scarecrow mask on the floor, his brain still wrapping itself around the fact it was attached to another being entirely.

“And Jonathan,” the Englishman called back, eyes not leaving the haunted grin of the specter, “ **do** keep him in here, if you wouldn’t mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mica, as always, should be given credit for providing their talents: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	29. Involved In This Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mere days before Christmas, Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch receive the news that Batman has perished by the hands of some unknown newcomer called 'Sid the Squid'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steaminess warning ahead. Though, it doesn't go too far since we want to keep this story with its SFW rating. However... For those that want to see things get more intimate, feel free to check the extended version of the chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328151
> 
> Also know that the beginning part of the chapter is referencing the BTAS episode 'The Man Who Killed Batman'. It's not really important to have seen the episode. Just... you should watch it in your spare time, it's pretty dang funny.

_Jervis Tetch had learned a lot about his partner following the_ **_incident_ ** _with Scarecrow. ‘Incident’ feeling pronounced in his mind as a night of terror, sadness, and an emotional closeness unlike any he had felt before with another being. It was true something similar had happened prior, when it came to the likes of Jonathan retelling all that he and his fellow inmates had experienced at the hands of Lyle Bolton. But that night had been_ **_different_ ** _. Jonathan staring up at the ceiling, hands resting on his chest as he spilled out moment after moment of the cruelty he had received at the hands of his own flesh and blood. Words spilled from Crane’s lips with a cold detachment, as if he was just reading a very detailed report of the events, rather than having lived it himself._

_Yet, still, Jervis had felt it. The fear that young Jonathan had lived through. The likes of feeling like he was walking a tightrope, where at any time the slightest wrong step could send him teetering over and receive the unjust lashing from his great grandmother. But it was the mention of the crows that had left Jervis’ blood running cold through his veins, as Jonathan described how the monstrous creatures had torn his young body asunder. Ripping away flesh as his grandmother sung hymnes to drown out the child’s screams._

_If anything, it showed the strides of the professor’s character that he had taken in Nevar at all-- let alone how affectionate he was towards that which had been his greatest threat._

_“_ **_No_ ** _,” Crane had argued then, locking eyes with the Englishman sharing his bed, “the crows were simple minded beasts. My greatest threat had always been_ **_her_ ** _.”_

_Jonathan was a man that refused to accept pity, even from the likes of the man he loved. And yet, be it from his own sense of guilt or shame that he felt from what his grotesque half had wanted to transpire, he allowed Jervis to shed his tears for him. He accepted Jervis’ need to bestow affection upon him, even if it was from the simple gesture of stroking Crane’s cheek. Hatter had been thankful for at least that much, as there was no way he could ever-- with his words-- say anything that could even begin to heal what had happened to him._

_Flesh healed, scars could even sometimes fade-- but the mind would_ **_always_ ** _remember._

_It was after the confessional that the Englishman decided, arms wrapped around Jonathan’s sleeping form, that perhaps he should drop his latest pursuit. It… didn’t feel as important any longer, after having heard a lifetime of secrets in one evening. And it was with this mindset that Jervis woke the following morning, careful not to disturb the lanky figure next to him as he climbed out from beneath the sheets. No, Jervis Tetch could never erase a lifetime of suffering… But at the very least he could make Jonathan Crane feel loved and wanted-- cherished more than from the family that could never see his value._

_Even if the steps towards doing so began with preparing the man a hearty breakfast in bed._

 

* * *

  
  
Jervis and Jonathan had been sitting on the sofa on a Wednesday evening-- three days before Christmas would make itself known. Crane wasn’t one for celebrating the holidays, with many a reason to despise the yuletide season as a whole. Yet he had put up with his partner’s need for cultivating cheer-- even if it was by putting up some meager decorations throughout the living area of the factory. The man had been at it for most of the day, the radio blasting song after song. It was only when Tetch felt himself exhausted that he finally decided upon a break, having dragged Jonathan out from his study. The Englishman had mentioned plans of turning towards PBS, as more than likely some movie or another would be on for the two of them to enjoy.

These plans, quite naturally, changed when ‘ _It’s a Wonderful Life_ ’ was cut off short by the familiar logo of the Gotham News Network.

“Summer Gleason here from GNN, interrupting local broadcast with a breaking news report.”

Crane rolled his eyes in annoyance, moving to get up from the couch and change the channel. Normally it was wise to keep an eye on the news, but considering neither of them were planning on doing much more than staying inside where it was warm, there was really no reason to care what was happening outside.

But he froze in place when a picture of Batman appeared on the screen. He stared and listened, settling back onto the couch.

"Tragedy struck late last night, when Gotham City's residential vigilante, Batman, perished, when a propane tank mysteriously exploded."

Jonathan stared, slack jawed, as the words worked their way into his head, tumbling around as he attempted to make sense of them.

"-- rumored to have been the work of a man calling himself The Squid--"

The report went on, but Crane wasn't listening anymore. Slowly, his lips curled into an impish grin.

"He's dead?" He uttered, his voice bubbling with joyous excitement. Turning to the other inhabitant on the couch showed Jervis to be equally as flabbergasted by the news, shock working its way to his own sense of glee.

“It’s… rather hard to believe,  _wouldn’t you say?_ ” Doubt didn’t diminish Hatter’s own Cheshire Cat beam, all the while the television went on to show the damage that had occurred from the explosion, taking down half the dock and building in the process. “Then again, I should think even  **the Batman**  would have the hardest time surviving a sea of flames and the weight of bricks.”

Summer Gleeson continued on with her mourning, which was promptly ignored as Hatter began to cackle wickedly-- not having forgot his ire over the vigilante having left Jonathan to suffer from his own toxins.

“‘ _And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?/ Come to my arms, my beamish boy!/ O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!_ ’” Jervis recited in his joy, grabbing onto his partner’s shoulders with unbridled enthusiasm. Crane’s own amusement over the reaction was swiftly cut short, his own jest forgotten as he was swept up in an unexpected kiss-- Jervis’ eyes closed as a youthful ‘myah’ was placed onto the other man’s lips.

Whatever spell of glee that had overtaken the Englishman was instantly smothered the moment he pulled away-- as reality over what he had done came crashing down upon him. Face flushed, Jervis jerked his hands back towards himself-- both grasping the other so as to prevent themselves from acting out again.

“I...I’m sorry, Jonathan, “ Jervis floundered, looking away sheepishly. “I do believe I… may have gotten too excited there. Pardon me for that.”

Crane was paralyzed for a moment; he had wanted to kiss this ridiculous man for so long, and it had passed so quickly. Be it the overwhelmingly good mood Batman's demise had brought on, or simply having waited for so long, the ex-professor felt no qualms with taking that as an invitation.

A dangerous grin unfurled, and Jonathan's wide, shocked eyes sharpened into a half lidded gaze, devious passion dancing within them like flames.

"Too excited, indeed." Crane growled, reaching a hand out to place on Jervis' cheek, and turn him to face him again. He leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips to Jervis', in a manner far more gentle and careful than his eagerness demanded.

Jervis couldn’t help but be reminded of the novel young Harleen had passed onto him, the romantic airs in which the schoolmaster initiates his passions upon his aristocratic companion. The difference, of course, being that this wasn’t something where the Englishman had to imagine what the sensation was like.  **No.**  The reality was far more enticing than the fantasy, as Tetch’s tingling lips caused a flutter inside him-- finding out that a story’s description of a  _‘toe curling kiss’_  was  **indeed**  a thing a person could feel.

Jervis  _‘oh’ed_  softly against his partner, his hands finding themselves wrapping around the lankier figure in reflex to ground himself as he attempted to return the affection.

It was ridiculous, really, how physical affection had the power to affect the mind and body this way. There was a time when Professor Crane firmly believed that the only worthwhile pursuits in life were those of the intellectual kind. The only stimulation one needed was  _the stimulation of the mind._

A stubborn part of him still firmly believed this, but in this moment, Jervis was making it difficult to dispute the power of stimulation of the more physical sort. Jervis hadn't pulled away in revulsion, he had reciprocated. The lips pressing back against his own... it was more than physical.  _He hadn't been rejected._  That realization alone was overpowering, and had it not been for the persistent need to analyze this fascinating new sensation, he may have ruined the moment right then and there by weeping like a frightened child.

Trying his best not to overthink it, Crane slid his free hand up the back of his partner's neck and then the back of his head, burying his fingers in the soft locks he found there, in a gesture he had felt too foolish to partake in before. Reluctant, but unsure how long these things were supposed to last, he pulled away, resting his forehead against Jervis'. He didn't want to overstay his welcome and make the guy uncomfortable... but, perhaps selfishly, wasn't quite ready to give up the closeness just yet, either.

Crane’s concern, however, hadn’t been needed-- as Jervis greedily went in for another. Whatever softness and hesitance that had been there before, was replaced with a more demanding hunger. Jervis had taken a taste of something new and wonderful, and just like his habit of doing,  _he couldn’t help but take **more**  than his fill._ The Englishman felt more than heard a rumble escape himself, as his fingers dug in deeper to the rough fabric of his partner’s top-- his brain just barely processing the hitch in Jonathan’s frame from the action. When the taller man yet again broke away, slightly gasping for air, Jervis cradled himself against his partner’s neck. Not so much giving it a second thought, he deeply breathed in the man’s scent-- humming a note of pleasure at the slight musk scent that could only be described as ‘Jonathan’ to Jervis’ hazy mind.

Despite the passionate liplock only moments before, Jervis' breath on his neck caused Jonathan to shiver. He stared straight ahead, over Jervis' shoulder, breathing irregular from more than just lack of oxygen. His buzzing mind grasped desperately at pieces, to mold them into some sort of logic and reason. Only one conclusion had been reached:  _he'd been wrong in his assumptions._ There was  **no way**  he was misreading his partner's intentions  **this**  time.

And if he was, the universe was far more cruel than even he had given it credit for.

Instead of verbally asking (he wasn't confident his voice would work in that moment, anyway), he decided to avoid the awkwardness and try something else. He dipped his head down to press his lips against the warmth of his partner's neck, a hand trailing down his back in a precarious game of 'How Far Will He Allow Me To Go".

Introducing lips onto Jervis’ neck caused another noise of surprise to escape him-- a mixture of a hiss and an ‘oh’ that caused him to grip onto the other man tighter. It was an interesting time to discover a new fact about himself-- that his sheltered skin was  _sensitive_. Instinct wanted him to jerk away, as the light taste of chaste flesh stimulated his nerves. Yet, luckily for him, Crane found the time to press on with fervor-- lips cascading down until he was prevented to go no further by Jervis’ collar. The Englishman sighed breathlessly, pulling himself away from Jonathan’s administrations.

Before Crane could inquire if he went too far, he was interrupted by Jervis’ husky remark.

“ _Here…_ **_allow me._ **”

Blue eyes clouded with desire locked onto Jonathan’s own as he tugged away at his tie. Silence was broken by the slick sound of fabric moving against fabric-- the Hatter’s signature tie forgotten as it fell onto the floor, abandoned.

Crane paused long enough to glance at the discarded tie with mild disbelief. Oh.  **That**  was as far as he was being permitted to go. Any nervous trepidation he may have still felt vanished then, washed away in a wave of pent up, ravenous desire. Crane brought his knees up to kneel on the couch cushion, straightening himself and wrapping his arms around Jervis' back, pulling him in against himself and smirking down at him.

"Much obliged." He muttered, before dipping back down to kiss and lightly nip at the newly exposed skin. Feeling bold, he went so far as to undo the first few buttons to explore even further.

He wasn't even sure why an act such as this should be so intoxicating... could it simply be he had a thing for exploring that which others would prefer stayed hidden? Or, perhaps, he thought to himself, it was more about the reactions he might elicit.

" _Oh my!_ "

Yes, like that one. Crane smiled against Jervis' flesh-- but it quickly fell as his feverish mind finally caught up with reality enough to realize that hadn't been Jervis. Jonathan pulled away and righted himself abruptly, scowling when he came face-to-face with the crow sitting on the back of the couch.

" _Do you **mind?**_ " Crane hissed at Nevar.

"Oh!" the bird replied, but made no attempt to leave.  " **Nevermore.** "

Jervis, chest lightly exposed to the elements, huffed in annoyance as he glanced up at the crow staring intently at them.

“ _Heavens,_ **_not again_ ** ,” the Englishman murmured, his frustration over having the moment stopped overpowering his usual need to cover his mortification of having been seen in such a state. “Nevar,  _please_ ,  **do**  give us some space.”

This was accompanied by a shooing gesture, the flick of Jervis’ gloved covered hands getting the message across. Nevar croaked out, flapping his wings a few times as if to show his own irritation at having been told to leave, before making his retreat. Crane was busy watching the bird fly off, when the sound of Jervis clearing his throat brought back the man’s attention to himself.

“Now, while it was a rather  **rude**  interruption, I  **do**  believe this has gone a trifle too far…” Standing up from the sofa, the Englishman was full of surprises as his fingers found themselves caressing the underside of his partner’s jaw. Jervis went on meekly, his gaze not being able to stay on Jonathan for long. “ _Perhaps_  we should change our  **venue** , my dear? Make ourselves…  _more comfortable?_ ”

After being told things had gone too far, being slyly invited into their bedroom to continue  **was**  a welcomed surprise.

"Yes, some place with fewer distractions, perhaps." Crane noted how much he sounded like a man just waking from a deep slumber; Jervis didn't need his cards to make a hazy, jumbled mess of his mind it seemed. He stood from the couch and followed his partner into their makeshift bedroom, the door clicking softly shut behind them.

A moment later, the door opened, the Scarecrow mask tossed out, and shut again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art gifted by Micaxiii, as always: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	30. A Yuletide Catastrophe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day for cheer and love turns for the worse when Jervis Tetch decides to call his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest crime is the fact I couldn't call this section 'The Nightmare Before Christmas'. OH, how I desperately wanted to! But it makes no sense, and 'The Nightmare ON Christmas' doesn't sounds not as FUN. BAH!
> 
> But yes, Trigger Warnings: Food mention, minor homophobia if you squint, and mental illness.

Christmas day had finally come to Gotham City, and Jervis Tetch couldn’t have been happier. It would be the first time in a couple of years he finally had someone to spend the holiday with– not counting the Wayne Tech Christmas parties he had only gone to because… well,  _ somebody he used to feel enamored towards would always be there. _ Then, of course, on Christmas day he would send calls back home towards his parents– his salary not allowing him to fly back to Warrington on a whim. 

But that was  **THEN** .  **NOW** he had Jonathan. And while the man wasn’t the type to break into Yuletide traditions– not at all surprising after hearing the… ah,  _ lack of affection he had during his own childhood _ – he at least put up with Jervis’ own nonsense. And really, having a warm body to nestle against and love more than made up for the last few years of pining away in isolation.

It was with that in mind, wanting it to be the very best day that it could be for both himself and his partner in crime, that the Englishman decided to brace the frigid air of the city to run a few errands. Nothing too risky, just stopping by a local grocer that was opened despite the day– Jervis had found it was run by a darling old Jewish couple, who seemed just as happy to have him come in as he was that they had been opened. While Hatter wasn’t able to provide the meal he would have wanted to make for Jonathan– a Christmas ham or roast was simply  **NOT** an option when their current home didn’t have an oven, after all– there was no reason they still couldn’t have something suitable for the occasion. The deli section had a smorgasbord of things to choose from, of both the cooked and salad variety. 

And it was with his bags of goodies did Jervis head for home, happily humming ‘ _ White Christmas _ ’ after hearing it blasting from one of the opened shops along the way. It came out as light and airy puffs of sound through his nose– the puffs making him feel like a kettle put on the stove for tea. Which was something he was also looking forward to having once inside the hat factory. Not that he was  **biased** , but tea would be  _ just the thing _ to top their meal of choice! …Although, maybe he should have considered stopping for a bottle of red wine? While neither Jervis nor Jonathan were drinkers of that sort, he couldn’t help but think of the dinners he used to have with his family. Red wine being poured as stories were shared– laughter overpowering the crackling of the fireplace.

It… was enough to make the Englishman feel a bit homesick, if he was to be perfectly honest. And it was this feeling that made Jervis stop and eye the payphone right outside their lair, the  telephone booth’s door open and inviting.

“Well… I  _ suppose _ there isn’t any reason I couldn’t give them a quick call.” Jervis thought aloud, shifting the bags all to one hand as he began dialing in the number. “It has been a little while, and I  **do** believe they should have finished up dinner themselves by now.”

Yes, he wouldn’t be interrupting anything– besides, Jervis was sure they would enjoy hearing the good news he had for them  **THIS** time around. Nothing as embarrassing as, well,  _ that doesn’t matter. _ And it was with brushing that thought aside did Jervis perk up when he heard the other end of the phone come to life, and the cheerful tones of Judith Tetch on the other line.

The phone had been ringing all day, but this was to be expected on Christmas. Relatives phoning in to give the customary well wishes and holiday greetings, yet another social nicety born of tradition that would be upheld. Mrs. Tetch plucked the phone from its cradle and put on an air of good cheer, fully expecting a familial call.

She wouldn’t be incorrect.

“You’ve reached the Tetch residence, this is Judith speaking.”

“ _ Mother! _ ” Jervis chirped, his enthusiasm simply refusing to be restrained. “Yes, hullo! I know it’s approaching half past nine for you and father, but I wanted to make sure to wish you both a Merry Christmas! Weather treating you well, I hope?”

A momentary silence on the other end of the phone as dread and fright caused the woman’s blood to run cold. This was her son, a boy she raised to be proper, intelligent,  _ her perfect little angel _ , and he  **had** been. Up until he insisted on moving to America, that horrid place had corrupted him into some sort of beast. A criminal! A thief!  _ A very, very sick man. _ She’d done her best to forget about him, and now here he was, with the  **audacity** to call their residence on such a joyous occasion.

“ _ Oh Jervis _ , what an unexpected surprise!” She did her best not to let her discomfort show. “Yes it’s fine, it’s been fine. … How have  **you** been, dear? Does Arkham  _ allow  _ personal calls around the holidays? That’s … _ nice _ .”

Jervis, however, didn’t sense any of his mother’s dread as he carried on the conversation.

“Oh,  _ I’ve been  _ **_frabjuous_ ** _! _ ” And he meant it too, his smile stretching across his face into a grin that would make even a Cheshire Cat envious. There was  _ much _ he was looking forward to telling his mother about the change in fortune that had come over him since their  **last** conversation. “Although, I’m not currently staying in Arkham at the moment. Jonathan and I–” 

He stopped himself from disclosing where they were staying, more so for the legality of it. 

“Well,  _ we’ve decided on taking a  _ **_holiday sabbatical_ ** _. _ ” Jervis finished, already growing giddy at the follow-up question he knew was coming– his mother  **sure** to inquire just  **who** Jonathan happened to  **be** .

No doubt seeing the look on his wife’s face, Jervis’ father approached and stood nearby, politely not saying anything, but raising an expectant brow in silent question. Judith was quick to cover the speaking end of the phone with her hand and whisper to him urgently.

_ “It’s Jervis… and I think he’s broken out of prison again.” _

“Jervis? Why is he calling  **us?** He can’t possibly–!”

He stopped when Judith shushed him and uncovered the phone to continue the conversation with her estranged son.

“Jonathan? A friend of yours, I presume? I’m so happy you’re making friends, dear… did you meet at the…  hospital?” She ignored the look she was getting from her husband. She shared his feeling on the matter; pleasantries were difficult under these circumstances. But somehow necessary.

That was all the invitation Jervis needed to start gushing about his significant other.

“ **More** than that, mother! _ Much much  _ **_more_ ** _! _ ” His tone took its flight of fancy, as he unconsciously sighed dreamily into the phone. Something his parents had heard before, they would quickly come to realize with alarm. “You’d simply  **adore** him. One of the brightest minds I’ve ever encountered, and renown for his studies on the psychological effects of fear.” While true, Jervis chose not to mention just  **how** the ex-professor went about conducting such research. He went on, not missing a beat. “Oh, but don’t let that frighten you,  _ he really _ **_is_ ** _ such a sweetheart.  _ The best breed of man the American South has to offer. We’ve been happily together for a while now, and… and he truly  **does** love me back!”

This he added as his own emphasis, the very fact Jonathan Crane was real and truly cared as deeply as he cared for HIM. Why…  _ it was such a magical experience! _

The lead ball in Mrs. Tetch’s stomach grew even heavier the more her son went on. He’d done it again, he’d brainwashed another citizen, and had convinced himself they’d gone along with it of their own free will.

“Oh! You’re. Pursuing  **_men_ ** now, isn’t that… _ something. _ ” She said this while glancing up at her husband, to make sure he’d heard. He definitely had, as he threw his hands up in resignation, walking away while shaking his head. Seeing this, her own resolve began to crumble. She sighed.

“Jervis, dear. Listen to me. You’re  _ sick. _ You need your medication, and you need to stop… _ controlling innocent people!  _ Please! Turn yourself in. If not for yourself, do it for your mother. Arkham is the best place for someone like you.”

She’d convinced herself she was asking this of him out of a mother’s love, but the honest truth was she was far more concerned about more of his escapades spreading over the news, of their friends and acquaintances catching wind of it all. They already found plenty to bring up about their son at social gatherings. Some matters were best left secret, hidden away. Forgotten about.

_ Controlling innocent people? _ What in the world did  **that** have to do with– it was in that moment that Jervis put together the pieces, coming to his own realization. Oh, mother and father must have, well, gotten wind of the news from a couple months prior. The allegations of just what was the nature of his relationship with Crane.

“No no, you  **misunderstand** ,” Jervis tried to reassure the woman on the other line. “I know how the news made it out to appear– GNN is  **rather fond** of throwing about wild theories before gathering all the facts.” Very much like a mock trial where sentences are given before verdicts, he couldn’t help but think, though this time with disdain. “Really, I promise Jonathan  **isn’t** anything like Alice  _ in the slightest! _ Our relationship should be in my hospital file, if you’d like  _ reassurance _ .”

The last bit came out unexpectedly bitter, though Jervis didn’t mean anything by it. He supposed he couldn’t blame them for having their… well,  _ concerns _ . 

“ **_Heavens_ ** , it was on the **_news?_ ** ” Judith suddenly felt faint. It was too late, it seemed, it was already out there. The reassurance he hadn’t **done** anything to this one provided little comfort. The woman steadied herself against the nearest wall and prepared to say the words she hoped she’d never actually have to speak aloud.

“Jervis, I’m…  _ happy,  _ you’ve found someone to spend your sordid little life with, and we love you very much. But, your father and I, we. We both feel it’s best if you… didn’t call here anymore. We’re getting on in years, and we really can’t take the stress of being reminded of what kind of man you’ve grown to be, despite our best efforts to raise you right. I’m sorry. Merry Christmas, Jervis. Goodbye.”

And with that, she hung up the phone, feeling an odd sense of guilty relief.

The click of the phone hanging up was followed by the dial tone– blasting its monotonous drawl into Jervis’ ears. 

He, however, wasn’t paying it much attention as he instead stared ahead at the snow covered window in front of him– shock over what had transpired hitting his system. His… mother had just said she never wanted to speak to him ever again. His mother, the woman who raised him, who had just reassured that she  **loved him** before giving the final blow. It… it was  **MADNESS!** It didn’t make a lick of sense. Sure, he had broken out of prison, and sure he may have recently disposed of a certain someone–  _ but she didn’t  _ **_KNOW_ ** _ about that! _ No one did. Judith Tetch had no reason, whatsoever, to have washed her hands of him. And his father too, for that matter! What, in heaven's name, could he have possibly have said that would have made such a simple phone call turn for the worse? He had told them he was in love with somebody that loved him back!

_ Somebody who just happened to be a man. _

The dial tone on the phone had changed to a screeching sound–the automated recording of ‘ _ if you’d like to place a call, please hang up and dial again _ ’. Dazed, Jervis found himself complying– his brain following the simplest commands out of habit. No, his mind wasn’t on the phone, or the booth, or the fact if he didn’t get back home soon dinner would start to grow cold. 

He was too busy realizing that the one constant he thought he had in his life was now taken from him. Parents’ love was supposed to be a universal constant. The vow to stand by you, for better or for worse. Sure, _he had made his mistakes._ Jervis wouldn’t **deny** that. And sure, his mother and father hadn’t been able to come down and see him– even after his first hospitalization. But Dr. Leland had mentioned she had been able to get a background of his upbringing through them. And they had certainly talked during that first stay– even if the call had been once and brief. At the time, while he sensed their disappointment–  _ for he knew he felt shame over having disgraced the family name _ – Jervis had readily believed them when they mentioned they simply didn’t have the means or the time to drop everything to come down and help him during his rehabilitation. That had been FINE,  **he understood** !

_ Perhaps, however, he hadn’t after all.  _

The Englishman’s heart pounded in his chest, as it suddenly felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. His parents… maybe that had been their goodbyes even then. And everything else he had been doing since was just a nail in the coffin of their reassurance that they made the right call on liberating themselves from their  _ wicked little son _ .

Jervis felt faint, the phone booth was starting to feel too tight– constricting. The walls, like his life, were falling in on him like a pack of cards. Attacking, crashing down upon poor Alice as the last onslaught by the King and Queen of Hearts. Not wanting to be buried, Jervis rushed out of the booth– throwing open the door.

_ Only to see the home of the March Hare. _

_ Whatever feelings the Hatter had been feeling before instantly vanished, a grin making its way upon his face as he took in the quaint straw roof, now littered with a fine dusting of snow. Yes, Hatter remembered now, he had been invited over for a little luncheon– Hare not feeling the slightest bit comfortable leaving his home this time of year unless absolutely necessary. But that was fine by him! Visits were always just the thing to liven the old boy up! _

_ Hatter, standing straighter as he adjusted his hat, had a jaunty gait about him as he strode through the gate. He needn’t knock, as he and March had been special friends for some time. And, with that he walked along inside with the airs of things being just as natural and ordinary as any old day– as this was all before Time would catch up with either of them.  _

* * *

 

The sound of the front doors opening sent a bolt of easily contained excitement though Crane. Earlier in the month, he had managed to procure a small artificial Christmas tree, made of metal and plastic. It was a pathetic looking thing, its branches sparse, a few of them bent in unnatural directions. But that was perfect. He’d gotten it for a laugh, and saved it until now. When Jervis had left to do a bit of shopping, he had stayed behind to set it up as a comedic surprise. As an added act of playfulness, he’d decorated it not with tinsel and glass ornaments, but with little plastic spiders and fake cobwebs. Oh, golly gee, how silly, the Master of Fear was doing his best to understand this strange, joyous holiday, and getting it completely wrong.

It stood, merely two feet tall, on the small table next to the couch on which he sat, casually reading a book, simply waiting for the goof to be noticed. A curious glance up at his partner was enough to put the tree completely out of his mind, however. Jervis was smiling, which was a good thing. The look in his eyes was less of a good thing. Much less. It was a look Jonathan hadn’t seen in a long time. Dread dawned as he realized;  _ the Hatter was back in Wonderland _ .

Crane closed his book, setting it on the table next to the tree and stood, never taking his gaze from the grinning madman in their home.

“Jervis?” He asked, cautiously.

Hatter, bags still in hand, found himself embracing the March Hare to the best of his ability.

“ **Haigha!** You’re looking lively despite it all.” Despite what, he couldn’t say. But it seemed like the perfectly reasonable thing to say at the time. “Sorry it took me as long as it did, my friend. The woods seemed to have grown tulgey since my last visit. The royal family really **ought** to do something about it before I have to fight my way through the thicket of it next time around.”

At this the Hatter laughed, taking himself away from the very confused looking hare staring down at him. The man, quite naturally, paid this no mind as he went to go place the goodies he brought along with him onto the dining room table. He frowned slightly at having realized that not a single thing was placed for tea. There were no spilled sugar caddies, no tea pots of numerous sizes– or even ONE for that matter. And not even the simplest spreads of bread and butter?!

“Hare, you were expecting me,  _ were you not? _ ” Hatter asked cautiously. He pulled out his pocket-watch that he always kept on him from his breast pocket, frowning momentarily.

“ _ Two days wrong _ ,” he muttered under his breath, it seemed no matter what the man did, he couldn’t seem to get the dratted thing to cooperate. Perhaps he WAS there on the wrong day?  _ Bah _ , no matter! They would simply make the best of the situation!

“I’ll put the kettle on, all the same. Sit sit,” Hatter commanded, quickly acting as if he owned the place. “And please, feel free to start nibbling away as I fetch the dishes.”

Crane’s suspicions had been regrettably confirmed. Jervis was definitely in the middle of another episode. What had triggered it this time? What could have happened In the short time he’d been away? Had he witnessed a dog get run over by a speeding vehicle? Had he been mugged? A run in with the Joker? None of these seemed plausible, but then again, he never  **did** find out what had triggered his **_last_ ** impromptu trip to Wonderland.

But, more important than how it had happened, was how to bring him out of it. Not that Crane was against allowing Jervis to live in his fantasy world for a while if he wanted to… he was just concerned Jervis may decide not to come back at all if left there for too long. The last time he had simply snapped his fingers and yelled in the man’s face to bring him home. Tactless, perhaps, but it had proven effective.

Crane decided he would resort to that if need be, slowly sitting at the table as he watched Jervis closely, but first he wondered if he could at the very least discern what had happened. Part curiosity, part concern; he mostly wanted to know for future reference.

“I wonder,” He called out to his partner. “Did you happen across the Jabberwock or the Bandersnatch while in the woods today?”

“ _Hmm?_ ” Hatter hummed, the kettle full of water and put onto the burner while he gathered up the few plates Hare owned. “Nono, nothing quite as ghastly occurred. No Jabberwock, bandersnatch, jubjub bird– not even claw nor tail of a snark or boojum. The walk was **fine** , just **long**.” 

Hatter returned back to the table where his lagomorphic friend was waiting, laying the plate gingerly before him as he stopped. There… there had been **SOMETHING** though. Something he couldn’t quite remember. Something that the more he inched towards the memory, his features found themselves twisting with dread before he felt nothing but chipper once more– his brain substituting the answer for one more agreeable.

“ **Oh!** _‘I sent a message to the fish:/ I told them “This is what I wish.”’_ “ The man singsonged, taking a container of cranberry sauce out of one of the grocery bags, scooping up a little of it and placing it onto Haigha’s plate before grabbing the next container of stuffed mushrooms. Hatter carried on, singing the next verse just as cheerfully. “ _’The little fishes of the sea,/ They sent an answer back to me./ The little fishes’ answer was/ “We cannot do it, Sir, **because** —“’_”

And Hatter ended it there, feeling like that was a sufficient answer. Nodding, he took out the remaining items from the bags. He was just about to tell his furry companion he should dig in, when he was interrupted by the calling of the kettle. 

“And that’ll be the twinkling of the tea,” the hat maker said with a smile, going off to fetch the pot– leaving the March Hare by his lonesome. 

The food on Crane’s plate went completely ignored as he stared ahead, expression stern in concentration. He drummed his fingers atop the table as he thought. What could that have possibly meant? Sent a message to the… **hm**. Had he made a call to Harley and Ivy to wish them a happy holiday? If that were the case, he couldn’t imagine what they could have said to put him in such a state.

Oh, it was no use. Trying to make heads or tails of Jervis’ fairy tale lingo when he was like this was **pointless**! If he wanted answers, he’d have to drag Jervis back to reality, kicking and screaming first. He stared down at his plate, scowling at it as if he blamed it for this entire situation. Eating was the last thing he felt like doing now.

Luckily for Crane, his distraction came with Hatter returning with the kettle. Grabbing the saucers and cups he had placed earlier, the madman began pouring– humming ‘ _Polly Put the Kettle On_ ’ during it. Once his Hare’s cup was sufficiently full, he placed the pot aside as he made quick work of preparing the drink just like his friend enjoyed it: heavily sugared, without the faintest hint of cream.

“Go on March,” Hatter encouraged, pushing the cup closer to the weary looking creature, “’ _ take some more tea _ ’. “

The tea was given the same disgruntled glare his plate of food had received, but it didn’t last long. He couldn’t stay angry at tea, even if he did prefer coffee. Crane sighed and picked up the cup. He really had no right to be upset at all. If Jervis had to deal with him suddenly yelling at him and threatening to poison him, Crane could certainly deal with… **this** , from time to time.

But it still meant Jervis was upset. Getting him to talk about it while in a state of denial and escapism wasn’t going to be easy.

“Hatter,  _ I’m hurt. _ ” He began, pausing to take a sip of tea. “We’ve been friends for  _ a long time, _ have we not? And you honestly believe I can’t tell when something is  _ bothering you? _   Really. What’s the problem? You can  _ tell _ me, you know.”

Hatter, who had been mid-pouring his own cup, instantly snapped his head up to lock eyes with his companion the moment he started talking. The Englishman blinked a few times, trying to process the meaning of the Hare’s silly words. Bothering him? Nothing was **BOTHERING** him! Why he was so completely unbothered they may as well call him  _ the Undisturbed Hatter _ \-- though he supposed that phrase didn’t exactly ring the complete truth depending on the context one was aiming for.

Yet… there had… there had been **SOMETHING** , wasn’t there? Something that pounded against the cellar door of his mind, a thumping that could have been mistaken as the monotonous tick-tock of the clock.

“Bothering me, my dear?” Hatter chose to voice, shaking off the creeping dread that was beginning to hit him once more. “Why in the world would you think something’s bothering me?”

Haigha arched a brow.

“For one, your cup is overflowing.”

This statement caused the man to jerk his head down, having completely forgotten he had been tipping the kettle at all. Hatter gasped lightly, instantly putting the pot down as he went for napkins to dab up the mess he made.

“ _ ‘Oh my fur and whiskers! _ ’” He muttered under his breath. “Clumsy me, clumsy me!”

Jonathan was quickly losing his patience, setting his cup back down, fingers scraping against the table top as they tightened into a fist. If this were simply a game, a flight of fancy, it would be different. He wasn’t against being silly in the privacy of their own home, in a place they wouldn’t be mocked. But this, this wasn’t a game to Jervis. This was Jervis purposely avoiding reality. It wasn’t  **_healthy._ **

_ “Jervis Tetch,  _ **_really_ ** **.”** He snapped, cups and plates clattering when he brought his fist down to pound against the table. “You pick  **_now_ ** of all times to take a  _ vacation _ from  _ reality? _   You’re  **really** going to leave me,  _ Jonathan,  _ **_alone_ ** on  _ Christmas? _ Alone with my _ thoughts? _ Didn’t you  **promise** you’d prove to me that this accursed holiday is  **_worth_ ** celebrating in the first place?”

Alright, so maybe a part of wanting Jervis back was a bit, selfish. So what? He was allowed to be selfish.

Hatter had initially jumped at the sudden clattering of china, quickly turning to see that Hare was upset. But that didn’t make sense? The man tried to follow the logic trails of what his lagomorphic friend was talking about. But he was saying names and ideas that didn’t quite meet with his Wonderlandian history– ‘ _ and yet it was certainly English. _ ’

But the name ‘Jonathan’ **DID** mean something. Something that brought on a plethora of emotions– most sweet and tender, yet another sense of dread looming over them like the swoop dark shadow of a crow. Big, bulking, taking the form of two familiar forms. Shadows that were filled with utter loathing for HIM. The pounding in the back of the Hatter’s head grew more violent, louder than it was before. The Englishman gripped his ears, in a vain attempt to drown out the thundering noise.

“ _ ‘ _ **_No room! No room!’_ ** ” Hatter cried, stumbling back away from the table, eyes clenched shut– doing his best to keep his vibrant world from escaping him. “ **Nngh.** I… I  **can’t** . Not  **now!**  No, no!  _ ‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son!’ _ “

Well, that had been unexpected. Crane had never seen the man trapped between worlds before, and he decided he didn’t much care for it. Annoyance quickly turned to worry and urgency. Crane practically leapt from his seat, scrambling around the table to reach his ailing partner, firmly grabbing Jervis by his upper arms, knowing full well it was pointless to try and pry his hands away from his ears.

“Jervis, snap  **out** of it! It’s alright to come back, **_I’m_ ** here. We can deal with whatever this is  _ together.” _

Even through the worry and madness, Crane still winced from his own words. He was beginning to sound like an after school special.

There was an awareness to the situation– the feel of hands keeping him securely in place. The muffled sound of reassuring words from the March Hare. No, not Hare– **Jonathan**. Jonathan was calling to him from the opening at the top of the rabbit hole. Wanting dream Alice to wake up so as to return home. To a place of comfort. A reality with somebody who was **real** and **tangent**. Jervis– _for that’s who he was, not the Hatter_ – found himself hesitant. Because even beyond Jonathan was those forms looking down on him.

But Jonathan had said it was alright to come back. That he was  **there** . And Jervis had always trusted him. Even before their friendship had grown into something more. Even after discovering there was another inside the man that maybe **should** warrant his hesitation, he still trusted whatever made up the entity of Jonathan Crane to keep him  **safe** . 

It was with a bitter goodbye to his dream world that Jervis came back to reality, his memory of where he was feeling foggy at best. However, the Englishman opened his eyes, locking onto the dark pools of worry of his significant other as he began to pull his hands away from the sides of his face.

“ _ Jonathan. _ ” Was the only word Jervis voiced, it feeling distant even as he knew it came from his own lips.

Jonathan let out a small sigh, born from the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Well, Jervis was back, but that was merely step one in rectifying this situation. He glanced at the table, and decided it wasn’t the best place for this kind of thing.

“"Yes yes, it’s me, I’m here.” He moved a hand up to graze against Jervis’ cheek, feeling only slightly foolish for having done so. The other hand was placed on Jervis’ back. “Shall we move to the couch, and you can tell me all about your little outing tonight?”

Jervis glanced back to the table for a moment– their Christmas dinner going to waste. Still… perhaps it was his own sense of selfishness– his need to be held and comforted after… well, in any case he was led back to the love seat all the same. It was there that the Englishman plopped, the sudden exhaustion he felt from both his earlier troubles very apparent.

Jervis removed his cap from his head, fiddling with the brim as he fell back on quoting from his beloved book.

“‘ _ I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’ _ ”  Jervis sighed. “I did just as I told you I planned to do before I left, dear. Well…  _ with  _ **_one_ ** _ exception. _ ”

Looking over at Jonathan was also when Jervis happened to notice the new addition to their home. 

“…How long have we had a tree?”

Crane was already very invested in hearing what events transpired while Jervis was away, very interested in hearing what this one mystery exception was. When Jervis had mentioned the tree, he feared the man was slipping back into madness, completely forgetting about the thing, himself. He was quickly reminded, however, glancing back at it briefly, waving a dismissive hand in its general direction.

“Oh, it’s nothing, it was a  _ joke _ , it doesn’t matter  _ now _ . … You were  **_saying_ ** ?”

“Oh, well…  _ It’s a very lovely tree all the same. _ ” Jervis offered weakly, before taking his gaze away from the fake fir. He continued with his story.

“Yes, so as I said, I went out to fetch dinner. Lovely outing, despite the cold. But then, upon reaching home, I stopped as I noted the payphone. I… was feeling rather **nostalgic** , you see. In a very festive mood, and since it had been so long…” Here the Englishman paused, swallowing reflexively– suddenly wishing he had his tea to drink. Instead he cleared his throat. “Y-yes, so I took it upon myself to call my parents.  _ It seemed rather  _ **_reasonable_ ** _ , at the time. _ ” He added bitterly.

Despite being told time and time again that Jervis had a perfectly fine childhood, that his parents were loving and supportive, hearing him say he had  **called** them caused something in the pit of Crane’s stomach to knot. Perhaps it was the tone he had taken, or perhaps it was simply logic; even the most supportive parental figure must begin to have  _ doubts  _ upon discovering their _ charge _ has become a  _ wanted criminal. _

Of course, he could have been told that either of his parents had perished, and that may have pushed him over the edge. But, again, the tone he had taken, it spoke of something more  **bitter** rather than  _ tragic _ . And yet, he couldn’t see the man having a mental breakdown over being scolded by his parents, either. No, Crane suspected something _ far worse  _ somehow.

Without necessarily knowing  **why,** Crane stood from the couch, returning to the table to grab Jervis’ cup of tea, grabbing the cream as well, and balancing the sugar in the crook of his arm. He then did his best to hurry back, while still being careful not to spill the tea; the cup was filled to the brim from its accidental overfilling.

“And  _ wasn’t  _ it?” Crane encouraged, setting the items on the table in front of them, and reclaiming his seat next to Jervis.

The Englishman had watched this scene unfold, feeling touched by the act. Jonathan had read his needs without him needing to voice it, and that alone gave him the encouragement to carry on with the events. Putting his hat aside, he went for the sugar, scooping in a spoonful– looking into the whirling amber of his tea more so as a welcoming distraction.

“No.” Jervis finally admitted. “No it was  **not** . I was told never to call them again. That they ‘ _ were  _ **_happy_ ** _ I found someone to spend my sordid little life with _ ’, and  **that** was **that**.” 

Jervis stopped his stirring, he spoon he was holding fell uselessly to the floor. His free hand covered his mouth with a gasp– as if the words were hitting him with full force for the first time. Jervis was shaking, his body having a hard time remembering to  **breathe** . His… _ his parents had… _

A light touch on his shoulder was enough to cause Jervis’ head to jerk up to look at his partner– eyes glistening from pain just as much from the fear of what it all meant.

“ _ They…  _ **_rejected me_ ** _. _ ”

_ Oh.  _ Disowned by his own parents, and on Christmas, no less. No wonder he was so distraught. Being abandoned by a mother who never loved him to begin with had been hard enough for Crane to deal with, it was harder for him to imagine being cut out of someone’s life when that someone was a someone you thought loved you unconditionally.

**WE COULD MAKE THEM BOTH DISAPPEAR.**

_ We aren’t going to murder his parents. _

**I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO SEE ENGLAND.**

“Oh, Jervis… I am so very, very sorry.” A part of him was glad that Jervis was holding a cup of tea; otherwise, he would have attempted an awkward hug. He settled for a light squeeze on the man’s shoulder, instead. “I can’t even  **_begin_ ** to imagine how painful that must be.”

This drivel felt so unnatural. So insincere. _Because it was._ It wasn’t what Jonathan was truly feeling at all. And he refused to sit by and pretend.

“I know you need me to be  _ soft  _ right now, Jervis. I know you need  _ comfort.  _ But that isn’t  **me** . Yes, I am sorry you have been wounded so badly, but if your parents really are that  _ heartless _ , I’m not sorry in the  **slightest** they’ve let you go.” He paused here to place his other hand on Jervis’ other shoulder, making sure to establish eye contact before continuing.

“You don’t  **need** _ them. _ You’ve made yourself a  **new** family. Me, Harleen, Edward, and even Cobblepot on some weird, twisted level. Cry, if you must. Cry for as long as you need to, but just know that at the end of the day, you have  **_us_ ** . And we aren’t going anywhere.”

Jervis certainly felt like he wanted to cry. He wanted to expel all the terrible feelings from his system. Crying had never been a thing of shame for him. Even as a child, it either was something that made him feel better in the moment, or his spew of crocodile tears was able to get him what he wanted. They came so easily and so readily, it was _no wonder_ most of his life he had been deemed as a sensitive man.

Yet, the tears would not flow. In a moment that truly warranted them, all his eyes managed to do was water– the heavy feeling keeping its clutches on his chest in agony. Jervis wore his despair, even as Crane delivered his own words of wisdom. Yes, naturally he wouldn’t be soft in the way that the Englishman would be if the shoe was on the other foot. Jonathan wouldn’t say what he wanted to hear– that maybe one day his parents would change their minds and take him back. There wasn’t a spark of hope on that front, because his history taught him that blood meant **nothing** in the end. ( _And even then Jervis couldn’t help but feel a prickle of guilt over the fact he was uttering his sorrows to his partner who hadn’t the luxury of having a parent love them at all…_ )

No, instead hope came in the form of the fact Jonathan wasn’t the type to sugar coat anything to him. And he had said he wasn’t alone. That he was **loved** , and **cared for**. That he still had a family, even if his original wanted _nothing to do with him_. Jonathan said it with conviction, as actuality. _As the way it simply was._ And this brought comfort to him him in ways his tears never had.

“I… I don’t  **want** to cry,” Jervis finally said aloud, his voice hoarse from his stress. He quickly took a sip of his tea, letting the warmth wash over him, before setting the cup back down on the coffee table. “I don’t want to feel  **anything** for them anymore. In the same way they don’t wish to feel anything for  **me** .”

Here the Englishman took a moment to recollect himself.

“Yet…  **I do** . I was just… I was merely caught by surprise, was all.  _ Nothing from my upbringing led me to believe that my parents would… _ ” Jervis stopped himself, grasping onto Jonathan’s words of comfort. “ **No** , I don’t  **want** to think of them anymore. I want to believe that you–  _ you, Harley and the others _ – are **enough** . I want to  **believe** that, **truly** , but… please don’t think ill of me, love,  _ if it takes me a while to forget about  _ **_them_ ** _ too _ **_._ ** ”   


Crane gave a single nod of understanding and agreement.

“Oh, you’ll **never** _ forget  _ them.” His words had come out sounding a bit more ominous and bitter than he’d intended. “I don’t  _ expect _ you to  **forget** about them. Those who impact our lives so greatly are never **_truly_ ** forgotten.” Oh how well Crane knew this to be true. He gave a weary sigh and, without thinking about it too deeply, reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from his partner’s brow.

“But, as time passes, they’ll cease to matter quite so much. You’ll  _ never  _ **forget** them, there’s even a chance you may never  **forgive** them. But eventually, their influence on your life as a whole will begin to fade, _ and indifference is  _ **_so_ ** _ much more scathing than contempt. _ But until then?” Crane raised a brow and held out his arms in a way that both resembled an embrace invite and a shrug.

“I’ll be here to help you through the more  _ difficult hours _ .”

Jonathan Crane had lied to Jervis that day. Not with his confirmation that people still cared about him. Not with his words that one never truly forgot those who hurt you. No, he had lied when he said he didn’t know softness nor comfort. That he had no ability to give it. Yet…. what would Jonathan have called a simple stroke of his face? The welcoming arms beckoning him to take any comfort the Englishman would find from them? Yes, Jonathan Crane had lied to him– but Jervis couldn’t find it in him to argue, as he instead clasped onto the spindle form of the man he loved.

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Jervis murmured, his face cradled against Crane’s neck as he soaked in his warmth and presence. Jervis sighed. “Here I promised to show you the splendors the holiday has to offer, and instead you’re back to playing therapist. You really ought to start charging me, you know.” It was then another more troubling thought came to mind. “All that strain over going out and about, and dinner’s more than likely cold by now.  _ I really  _ **_am_ ** _ sorry, Jonathan. _ I couldn’t give you that wonderful Christmas you were looking forward to…”

Crane had to bite his tongue, as the first thing he thought to say would have been, ‘Looking forward to it? I’ve been dreading it.’ It had only been Jervis’ insistence and apparent excitement for the holiday that had Jonathan agreeing to partake.

_ “Well.” _ He lightly drummed his fingers against Jervis’ back as he contemplated. “If all of those  _ sappy Christmas stories _ are to be _ believed _ , the  **point** of the holiday is to spend it with those you love. I am  **_certainly_ ** doing _ that, _ perhaps for the first time ever! All in all, I’d call this holiday celebration,  _ a success.” _

And that was all Jervis needed to hear. Knowing he hadn’t completely ruined the day, that there was still something left to save was at least something. Jervis smiled, finally feeling the Yuletide cheer return to him once more.

Which led to an even more pressing question of the day…

“All seriousness aside… Jonathan, why **IS** there a Christmas tree covered in spiders?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH AMAZING ART. Oooh boy howdy! A big thanks to Mica, as always: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	31. Birds of A Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Arkham, Riddler and Penguin have a little chat. Ragdoll watches with amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Some draw trauma, unfortunate implications being made by characters, and food being eaten.

The Arkham cafeteria was as noisy and bustling as ever, but Oswald Cobblepot heard none of it. He sat in his own little world, pushing his mashed potatoes around his tray, staring at it, longingly. He’d arranged the pale yellow slop into the vague shape of a swan. He sighed sadly a moment before his forlorn expression sharpened into a look of rage, teeth bared, eyes glinting with murderous intent as he stabbed the mush over and over again with his plastic spoon.

He stopped when he caught an orderly eyeing him.

Nine days. He’d been back in this Hellhole for nine days, pumped full of medications, and still, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d been so close, and now, his precious swan was probably sold off to some pawn shop somewhere.

“Still thinkin’ about him?” A familiar voice lilted from across the table. Oswald didn’t even look up, he just continued glaring at his tray in a huff.

“Yeah. I really thought we were meant to be together, y'know?” Oswald mumbled, absentmindedly pushing his potatoes back into a swan shape.

“Oh  **_really…_ ** ” Ragdoll’s intrigued tone caused Oswald to glance up to flash him an unkind look.

“Don’t you even  **dare** judge me! I can’t **_help_ ** it! Beauty like that doesn’t come along every day, and I just let it slip right through my hands…”

“ _ Beauty!  _ **Ha!** Oh, that is  **_rich!_ ** Adorable! I  **love** it!”

Oswald was too tired to do much more than glare at the cackling man across from him. Ragdoll didn’t understand, how could he? He hadn’t seen her, hadn’t caressed her cool, metal feathers. He didn’t see the way her eyes sparkled in the moonlight. It was with these thoughts that the sad longing crept back in, and he sighed heavily again, eyes returning to his tray.

_ “Awww, _ it’s not  _ too late _ , you know.”

“ **It** **_is!_ ** ” Oswald wailed, mournfully, earning him another warning glance from the orderly. “It’s  **gone,** it’s  **over.** Where do you think it is now, Rags? Do you think it’s thinkin’ about me, too?”

Ragdoll opened his mouth to reply, said nothing, and closed it again. Oswald was on the verge of weeping, and beyond all probability, Ragdoll found this made him _uncomfortable._ Relief rescued him when he saw Edward Nygma escorted into the cafeteria. Ragdoll’s frown of discomfort lifted into a grin, and he pointed over toward him.

“Well, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

In that moment, excited hope drowned out any and all logic and reason within Oswald, and he turned to look, as if it was perfectly reasonable he’d see them wheeling in his beloved swan. His hopes and dreams came crashing down when, instead, he saw the last person he wanted to lay his eyes upon in that moment. Confusion, realization, irritation, in the span of three seconds. He whipped back around to scowl at Ragdoll.

“I wasn’t talkin’ about  **that** guy!  **_He’s_ ** the reason I lost–” Shock more than anything stopped him from speaking as Ragdoll reached across the table to place two fingers against his lips.

“Ah-ah! It’s a little  **_late_ ** to be playing the denial game  _ now. _ ”

Penguin smacked the hand away and bared his teeth. “ _ The next thing you shove in my face is gettin’  _ **_bitten off_ ** _ , you ratty dishrag. _ ” he growled. Ragdoll, predictably, cackled in reply.

On the other side of the cafeteria, however, not a single speck of mirth could be seen on the face of Edward Nygma. Looking at him, one would see the look of constant irritation about-- his teeth clenched and wound tightly about him. Though, his sour mood couldn’t be completely blamed on the mere fact he was returned to Arkham Asylum. That was a part of the game all the rogues played when dealing with the Dark Knight after all-- there was always the likelihood of returning back to the hellscape. 

No, his personal layer of Riddler’s Inferno had been crafted specifically with an unbearable torture in mind. To start off his list of woes would be his constant jaw pain--  _ provided by the Batman’s sprightly pet bird _ . His crash into the Wayne Manor’s floor had left him with dental damage-- surgery having been needed to correct his teeth and jaw. Hinged shut, with a facial compression wrap to help keep his jaw restricted-- as well as help with the unfortunate side effect of persistent inflammation-- it left Edward Nygma with a dire need to keep his mind distracted from the ails of his physical form.

His distraction, however, came with him alone in his cell, obsessively wondering just **what** had went wrong. Everything had been perfectly planned, after all-- he had Echo and Query slip in as part of the staff that was setting up the charity event a week before the party. The girls had done their part, following the Riddler’s instructions to a T with setting up the lights-- and hacking into the sound system had been  _ child’s play _ . There was his hired help to keep the patrons there for his performance, and the number of hostages would have been enough to keep the Batman playing along-- he wouldn’t have wanted anyone  _ hurt _ , after all.

No, there had been an unexpected wild card-- a transgression the Riddler had not been able to foresee. Something that should have been easily waved off, had it not been for how the events went down in the end. This pain, this vexation...it went by one name:  **Oswald Cobblepot** .

The man was an idiot-- no one would have been able to argue that point originally. He was a being who couldn’t even spell ‘ _ avant-garde _ ’, let alone be considered a part of intelligentsia. Penguin was known to let the most imbecilic drivel spew from his lips, that it would make any pedantic person  _ weep _ from the loss of brain cells they’d experience just by sharing the same room with the troll.

And yet he had been able to best his riddles! Just that memory alone was able to turn Nygma into the furious looking nutcracker he currently resembled-- his teeth and jaw sending sparks of pain through his skull. What had occurred puzzled the puzzler to no end! **HOW?** How could that whelp, clearly below him, not even fit to clean his  _ impeccable taste in fashionable shoes _ , have been able to best him not  **ONCE** , but  **TWICE** ! Once was enough to be a fluke, it hadn’t been anywhere near his best material-- why waste better ones on a moron? Yet, there Penguin had been, able to even take on his second. Why, could you BLAME Nygma from having gone red with fury at the sheer humiliation of it all?!

Yet, despite all his suffering... the Riddler was nowhere closer to be able to figure out just how Cobblepot had accomplished the feat at all!

While Nygma wouldn’t call himself insane-- despite the label the doctors kept trying to thrust upon him-- he would say he had a healthy sense of curiosity. Even as a boy he would ponder about the hows and whys-- to the point he still recalled the verbal lashing he had received from his father when he once took apart the family’s television set. (Though really young Edward hadn’t thought it warranted--  _ he had put it back together afterwards, just as new! _ ) Still, he was curious by nature, and not having the answers left him just as focused as he had been then. 

And it was with that thought in mind, after retrieving his meal-- if it could be called that, his condition leaving him on a diet of soft textured mush-- that Nygma strolled over to where Cobblepot and his friend of a nobody were sitting.

“Ragdoll.  **_Cobblepot._ ** ” This was said through clenched teeth, though the venom was not at all lost on either of them.

Oswald grunted in both surprise and displeasure. Why was this guy talking to him? Was it because Jervis wasn’t here to pester? Or did he have more stupid riddles he wanted him to answer? Did the guy get off on that, or what? He was about to kindly suggest he sit  _ somewhere else _ , when Ragdoll spoke up first.

“Ohh, I’m  **_loving_ ** the new  _ headwear.  _ Did  **you** do that?” Ragdoll was looking at Oswald, but tilted his head toward Nygma.

“I wish.” Oswald grumbled. Sharing the ride back to Arkham with the guy’s unconscious body had been pretty satisfying, although he’d been unable to fully appreciate it. He’d still been in a confused haze after being attacked by a bench.

“Whaddya want, Riddle-jerk?” He asked, glaring at him from the corner of his eye, but refusing to look at him fully.

“To sit,” Riddler sneered– doing so without waiting for permission from either of them. Like he would need it anyway? Nygma momentarily felt like correcting Merkel on his incorrect assessment about his… condition. However, admitting Robin had been the culprit didn’t exactly feel less humiliating, so this, ultimately, went ignored.

Pulling out the plastic straw given to him from its casing, Edward pointedly made eye contact with Oswald as he continued speaking.

“Speaking of rumors, I heard an interesting one earlier this week regarding  _ your own condition. _ ” It was this that his grimace turned slightly, as a grin was attempted. “My my, treated from an extended exposure of fear toxin?  **Whatever** could you have possibly  **done** to warrant  _ the ire of the Scarecrow? _ ”

The very idea of the goblin before him having suffered for an extended period of time brought about a similar joy to the fact he _ knew _ Mockridge was still in a similar state of dread– never knowing when the Riddler would come back for what he was  _ rightfully owed _ . While he wasn’t a fear fetishist like  _ some people _ , he could certainly see the appeal. Especially to those who perhaps  **EARNED** it.  If he actually  **liked** Crane as a person, he would even consider sending a word of praise to the man for his _ exceptional work _ . 

But he  **didn’t** , so he  **wouldn’t** .

**“Weh!** How the–” Oswald recoiled from and scowled at the man sitting beside him, nearly losing his monocle in the process. How the heck had  **he** found that out? So much for patient confidentiality! But he wasn’t going to give this jerk the pleasure of smugly explaining how he figured it out. Instead, he huffed, and turned back to prod at his food some more.

“Apparently Joker’s chick isn’t just sleepin in  **his** nest these days.” He mumbled. “Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, sheesh! Am  **_I_ ** the only guy she  **isn’t** sleepin’ with? Ragdoll? Have  **you** been with ‘er, too?”

Ragdoll froze in the middle of licking his tray like a starving mutt to grin at him.

“Oh,  **_I_ ** don’t kiss and tell.  _ Edward? _ ” He lilted, turning his attention to Nygma.

Ragdoll, as usual, went ignored as Penguin had managed to yet again throw Riddler off with his words. (Something he HOPED wouldn’t become a habit!)

“No, wait,  _ excuse me? _ ” Nygma stared, the act most likely looking far more comical than his pride would have allowed. “You think… You think CRANE is getting on with HARLEY?”

The very idea would have made him _ laugh _ , if he didn’t find it…  _ disturbing _ .  **STILL** ,  **HE** knew the truth about the nature of the man’s relationship with the ex-psychiatrist. As well as who the Scarecrow  **WAS** currently going bump in the night with…  _ Oh dear lord,   _ **stay focused** _. _ The point currently was to humiliate the man, and perhaps also find out just  **WHAT** Penguin was spreading around, so as to make sure the Master of Fear could hear about  **THIS** as well. 

_ The mere thought of the man ending up missing like Lyle Bolton was enough to bring the smile back to his face.  _

The spoonful of food Penguin had just stuck into his mouth suddenly tasted foul; he made a face and sputtered, just barely managing to choke it down.

“What,  **_no!_ ** ” He squawked, turning back to give the man a look that implied he was clearly mental. “Not  _ Crane _ , the  **_Scarecrow!_ ** Y'know, seven feet tall, sharp claws, piercing little beady eyes, a cackle that’ll make you wet yourself?” He paused here to shudder visibly.  _ “Buuh!  _ I don’t even think that guy’s  **_human_ ** . That Harley broad’s got some  _ weird  _ tastes in  _ bedroom company.” _

That.. that idiot! That complete buffoon… the stupidity of just the NOTION he thought Scarecrow wasn’t HUMAN, let alone hadn’t yet come to realize WHO Scarecrow WAS…

It was enough to bring back his anger at the fact it had been HE who had answered HIS riddles!

“You can’t be SERIOUS,” this, while not loud on its own, was punctuated by an angry slam of Nygma’s fist on the table. “Crane  **IS** Scarecrow,  _ you thick-headed reprobate! _ You couldn’t have actually BELIEVED his hogwash about being fear incarnate– no one is THAT gullible!”

Oswald frowned deeply, but said nothing, eyes far away as he put the pieces together. It couldn’t be, that seemed impossible! Stupid! There was no way… Suddenly he recalled Crane screaming down the corridors, insisting he was the Master of Fear, monologuing threats to orderlies as they passed by his cell, and it was suddenly so clear, so obvious. He’d been so afraid of some sixty year old school teacher in a Halloween costume this entire time!? But, even more importantly…

**_“Harley’s screwin’ the crazy old gay guy?!_ ** No  **wonder** Jervis isn’t gettin’ any; his boyfriend’s been busy shackin’ up with some broad young enough to be his  **granddaughter!** That’s **_disgusting!”_ **

“Oh, I don’t know about  _ that.”  _ Ragdoll replied. “I heard Jonnyboy telling the Hatter how he’d nearly ruined his burlap pajamas just from watching him try and chop off Batman’s head.”

“Ew! No!” Penguin had pressed his hands to his ears at this point, teeth clenched. “Shut up!  **_Uhg!_ ** Why do I even  **sit** with you!”

_ “Because I’m your only frii-eend~” _ Ragdoll sang.

Edward Nygma wouldn’t call himself the sentimental type. Jervis Tetch  **wasn’t his friend** , nor was Crane or Harley. So it wasn’t from a point of  _ concern _ that he felt the need to correct Cobblepot. No, it was his need to correct _misinformation_ that compelled him forward, despite the fact he  **should** have dropped out of the conversation altogether.

“You really don’t know  **anything** , do you?” This was punctuated by Riddler stabbing his straw into his mashed potatoes, prepared to start eating once he schooled the other man. “Harley was his  **student** . His attacking you, if you’d been stupid enough to consider pursuing her, would be the equivalent of a redneck father pointing his shotgun at his daughter’s would-be suitor. You’re a threat to his  _ baby girl. _ ” 

All irritation he had instantly evaporated as another thought dawned on him.

“Not that you had a chance with Quinzel to begin with. Crane should have realized THAT much. Still, stick to somebody in your league, at least. Mister C-lister here, for example, seems more than willing– _heavens knows_ _**why** _ _._ ”

Feeling more than satisfied with having knocked down the man a few pegs, Edward went on to slurping his lunch through his straw.

“A  _ C-lister, _ oh, you’re too  **kind!** ” Ragdoll gushed. “I’ll take it.”

Oswald only spared the weirdo a warning glance before his attention was fully back on Nygma. The nerve of this guy! Unbelievable! Like this nerd could get a date any faster than he could.

“Y'know, it doesn’t count as a  **date** if you’re  _ payin’ _ the girls to  **be** there with you.” He spat. His sneer softened into a lecherous smirk and he added, _ “That Echo babe must not’ve been  _ **_cheap,_ ** _ either.” _

Edward looked down at the man next to him, straw in mouth, brow raised.

“You think I  **PAY** my hired help to engage with me _ intimately _ ?” Nygma asked, disgust coming from him in waves. Here he thought Tetch had been crazy to assume he would have sentimental feelings like missing the women, and yet Cobblepot was suggesting something even MORE ludicrous. “While beauty might be in the eye of the beholder, I’m at least  _ smart enough _ to know not to mix  **business** with  **pleasure** .” 

Not to mention the fact Echo and Query were strictly a duo, in every sense of the word; he wouldn’t be able to get anywhere close to one without expecting to be fully committed to the other. And while two for the price of one might have sounded like a tempting bargain, the idea of being expected to put up with  _ two sets of personal dramas _ was tiring from the mere thought alone.

….Not that he planned on voicing any of this, naturally. No, instead it was Riddler’s turn to flip the script back on Penguin.

“ _ Please  _ tell me that’s not what you  **expected** from your Kabuki Twins. If so, I can see why they  **LEFT** .”

From across the table, Ragdoll visibly winced. He knew Oswald well enough to know that was a sore subject best left untouched. Despite that, he was intrigued to see just how Cobblepot might react.

And that reaction wasn’t nearly as explosive as he’d expected. Oswald scowled and grunted, and turned back to his tray. He’d managed to acquire the Kabuki Twins’ loyalty and respect by besting them in battle, and lost it just as easily from losing to Batman one too many times. They hadn’t left because he disrespected them, they’d left because they’d lost all respect for him and his abilities.

_ “Yeah, well, at least I’m better at what I do than you are.” _ He mumbled.  _ “Even Batman’s  _ **_birdboy_ ** _ can solve  _ **_your_ ** _ stupid riddles.” _

Edward Nygma’s eyes opened very wide upon hearing this: for a fraction of a second he had wondered how Penguin had heard of that– his second venture onto the crime scene had been him commanding his goons to break into the GCPD’s records and destroying all written testimonies. And he had prevented the boy from interfering in his second caper after he began giving Batman too many helpful hints. Thus, no records of that could be made either. So in conclusion there was no way that the troll next to him would have known. Which meant he was speaking purely from his posterior– _ridiculing him._

That alone was enough to bring back his resentments, as Riddler was finally brought back on track of why he was sitting amongst the swine to begin with.

“Growing a  **thick head** , are we? While I haven’t the  _ slightest idea _ how you were able to piece together my puzzles before, I have in  **total confidence** that it was merely a fluke. Your sudden intrusion on  **MY** gig merely throwing me off my game, as it were.” He was making excuses; he knew it, and the fact he did was enough to make him clench his jaw tighter with frustration. “Which is why I  **demand** you accept another challenge! To finally even the score. You do  **OWE** me– we’re locked away once more because of  **you** , after all.”

**_“What!”_** Nygma had successfully returned Penguin’s attention back to him. “ ** _If I_** remember correctly, _and I know I do,_ **you** were the one who attacked **me!”** Oswald clenched his teeth and shoved his empty tray away from himself.

“Y'know what, **_fine!_ ** Go ahead, give me more riddles. But if I solve ‘em,  **you** have to  **_admit_ ** this is all your fault!” He pointed a finger at Nygma. His eyes wandered for a split second to Nygma’s tray. “ **And** I want your pudding cup. Do we have ourselves a  _ wager? _ ”

“Pudding cup?” Riddler momentarily eyed his dessert on his tray. What a bore, thinking with his stomach when he should have been thinking with his **MIND**. Pudding was inconsequential to the matter at hand, after all. Still, the taller man shrugged. “Alright,  **fine** . You can have your  _ just desserts _ , but only  **IF** you can wager a guess. _ ”  _

This was punctuated with a flourish, the man swiping his meal to the side as Nygma’s focus was entirely on Cobblepot.  His brow furrowed, his smile widened as far as his condition would allow. 

“Now,  **riddle me this** : _ I can come in a can, I can come as a punch. I can come as a win, you can eat me for lunch.  _ **_What am I_ ** _? _ ”

Penguin stared at Riddler, brows knitted together, a small, confused frown on his face.

“Oh, it rhymes!” Exclaimed Ragdoll. Oswald’s eyes drifted over to him and then back to Riddler. Then he slowly turned to rest his head on his hand, his other hand drumming against the table as he thought. The guy was obviously messing with him, right? Those clues couldn’t be related! It was complete nonsense! It would be just like Nygma to give him a bunch of random clues that had no conclusive answer just to make him feel stupid.

_ Beat. The answer is beat. _

_ “Hah? _ ” Penguin sat up straight, and looked around, trying to spot who had just spoken to him. He saw no one close by. He glanced over at Ragdoll, but he was busy trying to balance his fork atop his spoon, his legs crossed behind his neck for no discernible reason, other than supposed comfort.

_ B-E-A-T; as in, to defeat, or to strike. B-E-E-T, the vegetable, comes in a can, and you can eat it, too! Get it? _

Penguin, now too distracted to care about solving this mystery, blinked a few times. Then his confused frown spread into a grin.

_ “Oh yeah! _ Beat! I get it.” His grin faltered, and his gaze shifted back over to Nygma. “I  **got** it, right?”

Riddler had been watching the scene unfold with much amusement. He could see he had finally stumped the other villain– he knew the look of a man who had no idea where to even begin thinking about things on a deeper level. To begin to unravel the complexities of the English language, as Edward had no doubt he never _seen_ a dictionary, let alone **USED** one.

Eyes focused on Penguin, the taller man raised a brow at the goblin looking away with confusion– his little squawking no doubt his brain beginning to crumble under the pressure. Riddler was just about to say as much, to tease and show his intellectual superiority once more, when Cobblepot finally gave an answer.

_ And he was  _ **_correct._ **

Nygma did a double take.

“But… But HOW?!! You were STRUGGLING! I could see it clearly written on your face. HOW?!”

Riddler, in his own maddening frustration, grabbed onto the scruff of Penguin’s prison uniform as he started to shake him wildly.

“ **_How are you SOLVING them– I’VE GOT TO KNOW!_ ** ”

Irritation over being grabbed and manhandled like that again quickly gave way to pride and satisfaction. Oswald reached out and snatched the pudding cup from Riddler’s tray, not even trying to pry himself away from the crazed madman.

“The answers just come to me.” He shrugged. “Guess your riddles must be too  **easy** or something.” He added with a toothy smirk.

“Hey I’m just about _ finished  _ here,” Ragdoll interrupted, gesturing to his tray. “ But if you guys are going to start smoochin’, _ I could stick around a while longer.” _

He was joking, of course; if they really did start making out in the middle of the cafeteria, he would have definitely vacated the premises. But they didn’t need to know that.

Ragdoll, quite naturally, went ignored. All that mattered to the Riddler was Penguin, and his pompous peacocking. Kissing was the last thing on his mind, except for the notion of having his fists kiss that ugly mug of Cobblepot’s.

If he had been in sound mind he would have recognized his actions had already garnered the attention of orderlies and guards– ready to strike down any potential fights. However… an angered Nygma tended to be quite mad. And it was during his state of vexation that he grabbed onto Penguin’s prize, squeezing the pudding cup with all his might. The treat gushing down Oswald’s fist with a sickening POP.

“ **There.** Enjoy your dessert,  _ you little cheat _ .”

Oswald’s heart sank when his prize that he rightfully earned was instantly revoked. This, of course, boiled into anger and then straight into rage. He clenched his teeth and glared daggers at Nygma. This jerk had been a thorn in his side since they’d met, an entitled freak who thought he could push Oswald around like a schoolyard bully!

These thoughts swirled around, only fueling his building anger, and suddenly he had his hands around Nygma’s throat.

**“CHEAT!** ” Oswald cried out through clenched teeth **.** **_“I’LL SHOW YOU A CHEAT YOU PIECE OF–”_ **

Four orderlies were suddenly upon them, two for each. Oswald squawked and growled as they tore them apart, flailing and kicking even as he felt the needle in his neck.

Nygma gasped for breath the moment his airway was cleared– his own set of orderlies upon him.

“This isn’t  **OVER** , Cobblepot!” The man rasped, even as his arms were pulled behind his back. “I will figure out how you are solving them– EDWARD NYGMA WILL  **NOT** BE BESTED BY THE LIKES OF **YOU** !”

Ragdoll watched the two get subdued, enjoyment very much evident even as the two were escorted out of the room. Smiling, he poked the chocolate puddle left behind on the table– licking it with satisfaction.

“ **Mmm** , tastes like a new budding dynamic to me!”

The lanky villain’s visage twisted into a frown.

_ “I don’t think I  _ **_like_ ** _ being a third wheel…” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art, as always, created by the ever talented Mica: http://micaxiii.tumblr.com


	32. What A Wonderful Animosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for another session of Arkham Asylum group therapy, as Dr. Leland struggles to keep certain members in check. Penguin and Riddler do their best to ignore one another, and fail miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Some violence, a couple of 'Daddy' jokes, and Penguin's ever so classy sexism. So heads up there.

Joan Leland watched the clock hanging over the wall, more so to make sure they were nearing time to start the month’s group therapy session. The doctor did a quick sweep across the room, just long enough to take in the moods of the inmates. Arnold Wesker, calm and quiet as always– the Scarface puppet sitting on his lap, somehow looking very alive and annoyed despite his wooden nature. Oswald Cobblepot was to the man’s left, arms across his chest, looking just as annoyed– though that could have been because he was purposefully keeping his gaze away from Peter Merkel next to him. The contortionist’s habit of provoking the man, while technically following the rules of keeping to himself, well… she would have given the man credit for his creativity, if Leland didn’t find herself worried about the way the man was sitting in his seat: spine twisted and flopped about. A quick peek at Edward Nygma was enough to show even he was ignoring the man’s antics– but otherwise seemed apathetic to everything around him.

Dr. Leland’s eyes fell to the last seat to her right, frowning as it remained empty.

“Hmm,” the woman said to herself as she glanced back up at the clock. “It appears they are taking a moment to escort Waylon.” For a moment she considered calling the security station to see if perhaps there had been a problem during transportation; however, with the man’s size and condition… Jones was known for needing extra hands to keep him in line– even on one of his better day. Still, she nonetheless sighed, as she addressed the group, doing her best to smile politely.

“We’ll give them a couple more minutes: then we’ll start with or without him. I’m sorry for the delay, either way.”

“Oh, please,” Nygma said with a sarcastic lilt, waving a hand with his devil-may-care attitude, despite his pained and clenched jaw. “There’s no rush. This is all a waste of time, no matter if we’re a full band of misfits or not.”

“Still, “ Leland responded, jotting down to inquire from Edward’s doctor if the man was taking anything for pain alongside his other medications– and to perhaps recommend doing so to see if that may help with his irritable mood. “I wouldn’t wish to keep you all waiting.”

Waiting, however, did give her time to think about things. Such as the news of the fight that had recently gone down between Nygma and Cobblepot. Something she planned on discussing during the session, certainly. Yet… the doctor couldn’t help but lament about the fact usually Edward was more collected during his stays in Arkham– the fact he didn’t have someone there to engage with him that the man considered worth conversing too no doubt coming into play. This, in turn, made Joan think about the one patient so far who had the skill of keeping Nygma playing nice with others.

Dr. Leland’s frown returned as she couldn’t help but think of Jervis Tetch, and his escape a couple months prior with his partner– Jonathan Crane.

To say she was angry wouldn’t have been accurate. While it did, indeed, leave her feeling a bit… well, **embarrassed** that her encouragement of the two being allowed to share a cell was what led to the two being able to escape and cause a hospital wide riot– she didn't take it personally. Confused about how they were able to get Mr. Bennett to work for them– despite the security cameras not showing a single mind control card placed on his person. _Yes_ it left concerns, but she wasn’t upset with her patients. Dr. Bartholomew had talked to her about what had transpired, putting down notes in Tetch and Crane’s files that they will not be sharing a cell upon their return.

Still… despite what happened, Joan couldn’t help but feel she had been on the right track with them. Once Jervis and Jonathan have been returned, she would continue to fight for her treatment plans she had in place. However…. she would still need to find out what happened, exactly,  that caused the security guard to be bribed into working with them in the first place. As well as what would make both Nygma and Bolton agree to being placed under the Hatter’s control for their escape plan. There were just… too many questions and not enough answers about what had truly transpired.

This, yet again, would have to be a thought for another day, as the door to the room opened– Aaron Cash and a couple of the burlier looking guards under his position helping to escort in the patient they were waiting for: Killer Croc. The inmate was an imposing figure– his arms chained and kept that way even as the mutated man sat in his seat next to Edward. Waylon’s tail swayed slightly from his own irritation, and Leland couldn’t help but sympathize. She wished they didn’t have to keep him so tightly under close watch– no doubt the treatment feeding into his sense of feeling othered for his condition. Yet… This was the rule in placed, especially after the man had attacked Cash, biting his hand off during one of their squabbles.

Still, Leland smiled encouragingly.

“Good afternoon, Waylon. It’s very nice to see you were able to join us.”

“Uh-huh. Excuse me if I don’t quite feel the _warm welcome_.” Waylon muttered, raising his chained up limbs slightly to punctuate his point.

“Whoa!” Scarface piped up, looking the mutant up and down. “You can take the croc out of the bayou, but you just can’t wash that bayou stink out of the croc! Pee-yew!"

Croc let out a low warning growl, but didn’t voice his retort of, despite being a meat eater, he was always in need of a few toothpicks. He knew that any threat given by him was always taken with a side of extra caution, and he didn’t want to be hauled off back to his cell just yet. It was nice being out and about with other people again, even if they were insensitive lunatics.

Meanwhile, Oswald was giving Wesker a look of incredulous reverence. He’d just insulted the dinosaur without breaking a sweat. He was either the bravest man he’d ever known, or the most idiotic.

Leland gave Wesker a pointed look, eyes only momentarily lingering onto the ventriloquist puppet.

“I would like to remind everyone to keep this civil. There is no need to insult one another, we’re all friends here.”

The groan from the room went ignored, as the doctor more than expected it. Still, the woman smiled as she was ready to get things started.

“We’ll begin on the left and go clockwise. Arnold, how have you been?”

This caught the skittish man off guard, momentarily jumping in his seat.

“OH! Um, well… we–”

Leland raised a hand to stop him.

“No, I asked **you** , Arnold.” Her gaze fell upon the doll in his lap, still keeping her air of professionalism. “Scarface may have his turn afterwards. I’m sure he can patiently wait, give him some credit.”

The puppet seemed to glare at her, but ended up scoffing all the same.

“Y’got moxy, doc.” Scarface swung his head to look back at his puppeteer. “Alright, dummy, answer the broad, why dontcha? We ain’t got all day!”

Wesker nodded his head eagerly.

“Yes sir. Of course, sir.” The balding man put his focus back onto his doctor, feeling himself grow demure once more. “I.. I’ve been well.”

Leland nodded, pressing onward.

“That’s at least good to hear. I saw you put in a request for knitting needles and yarn to have during recreation time. It’s nice to see you branching out into trying something new.”

Especially considering his history, the doctor couldn’t help but think to herself. She was surprised his personified voice of toxic masculinity hadn’t stopped him from making the request.

“ _Knitting needles_ ?” Ragdoll whined, frown comically deep. “How come **he** gets weapons just because he _asked_ for them? Seems like an unfair advantage to me.”

“They’re **_plastic_ ** , you moron.” Scarface spat back. “He don’t want ‘em for _stabbin’,_ he wants 'em for knittin’. _Y'know, like a_ **_real_ ** _man.”_ If his tone hadn’t been enough to show his sarcasm, his eye roll definitely was.

Arnold momentarily looked down at his lap, the implication having hit its mark.

“I… just thought it wouldn’t hurt to have another blanket,” was the man’s weak response. Dr. Leland couldn’t help but sympathize with him.

“I think that’s more than reasonable. I would love to see it once it’s finished.” She turned towards the doll, her genuine smile slipping into her forced professional one. “Anything you’d like to add before we move on to Oswald?”

The puppet was silent and unmoving for a few seconds, and then shrugged.

“Nah, I ain’t got nothin’ t'say.” Scarface’s head turned slowly nearly ninety degrees to look at Oswald, and despite knowing full well it was just a stupid puppet, Oswald felt an uncomfortable shiver run through him. “Besides, I wanna know **_their_ ** story. What’d you **do** to ‘im?” Scarface asked, tilting his head in Nygma’s general direction.

“I didn’t **_do_ ** that!” Oswald shouted. “Why does everyone think **_I_ ** did that!”

“And worse, that he’d still be **ALIVE** if he did.” Edward growled in his own defense more so than clearing the Penguin’s good name. Ha, that was a laugh!

“No need to sling accusations,” the doctor butted in, doing her best to seize control once more. “We will get to that in due time. Oswald, _please_ ,” she stressed the word with a bit of command. “Tell us how you’ve been since returning. No trouble with being back on your medications again?”

‘ _And more importantly, no additional side effects of the fear toxin?_ ’ Joan couldn’t help but think to herself. While Copplebot wasn’t her patient– Bartholomew having thought a woman doctor taking care of him was… problematic– Dr. Crane, however, **was.** And a part of her tended to feel responsible for the man’s actions– _even while outside of the hospital’s walls_ – despite logically knowing she wasn’t.

Leland’s words were heard but barely registered, as Oswald was busy glaring daggers at Nygma and wishing he really **had** been the one to smash his stupid face into the floor. He had to search his brain to remember the question he’d been asked.

“Eh, yeah, s'fine.” He crossed his arms, indignantly and glanced away with a scowl. _“Still don’t think I_ **_need_ ** _any medication._ ” He muttered. He uncrossed his arms and glanced over at the doctor a split second later, the hint of a smile replacing the scowl.

“Been sleepin’ better, though.” He admitted. He might have hated being here, and being caught, and losing his swan, but at least he was sleeping through the night again, free of nightmares.

“Awww, did you really miss me that much, buddy?” Ragdoll grinned at him, and Oswald leaned away from him slightly.

“It ain’t ‘cause'a you, weirdo.”

Relief washed over Leland at Cobblepot’s words. And despite his attitude towards Merkel, she had enough awareness to know that– like with another redhead of the group, her eyes slitting towards Nygma for a brief moment– that Oswald enjoyed having company more than he let on. Perhaps sharing similarities was where their current bouts of bickering stemmed from.

That, of course, was a topic for another time as the doctor instead chose to carry on the session.

“I’m very pleased to hear the latter, Oswald. The path of improving one’s health begins with having a well rested mind and body, after all.” The groans she received from the group were expected, and this Leland couldn’t help but find it endearing in its own way.

“That, however, brings us on to Peter.” The use of the name caused said patient to ignore her, pretending as if he didn’t know who she was referring to. If Joan didn’t have the patience, she might have rolled her eyes. “ **Ragdoll,** ” she tried again, “How have you been?”

“Who, **_me?_ ** ” Ragdoll gestured to himself, only now deciding to acknowledge her. “I’m doing **_so much better_ ** now that my **friends** are back.” Now he gestured in Penguin’s general direction with one hand, to Riddler with the other. The fact he barely knew Riddler at all made no difference. “ _I was_ **_so lonely._ ** _”_

“Lucky me.” Oswald muttered.

“Yeah so since when were **you** two _friends,_ anyway? Last I saw ya, you were just as annoyed at him as the **rest** of us for tryna’ boss us around and landin’ us back in **this** place. Can’t help but feel I’m  missin’ somethin.” Waylon questioned.

“Ohh, well, funny story, see-”

**_“For the last time, we ain’t friends!”_ ** Oswald suddenly cried out.

Ragdoll stared at him, his grin briefly disappearing. Then he glanced back up at Waylon and whispered very loudly, " _I’ll tell you later, then.”_

Waylon actually smiled, both in amusement, and the possibility of actually being permitted company later.

Nygma nearly rolled his eyes at the others’ antics, slipping out from under Ragdoll’s stringy arms-– lest he catch some disease just from breathing in air so close in proximity. The fact Penguin couldn’t see that the man was toying with him simply irritated him all the more that such a simpleton had gotten one over him not _once_ , not _twice_ , but **THRICE!** It was enough to make the likes of the Riddler **STEW** in hate and loathing.

Leland, however, took this moment to take back leadership of the session.

“Remember our talk of boundaries, Peter?” The good doctored sighed out, more so by the fact she had to remind the lanky circus performer time and time again. She chose to overlook Cobblepot’s commentary altogether, knowing better than to get into a talk of how it was more than acceptable to enjoy others companies. Still, her gaze landed on Nygma, the man refusing to make eye contact purely for the sake of it.

“Edward?” Leland probed. This only caused the man’s scowl to intensify.

“OH, _just dandy, doctor._ ” Was the man’s sarcastic lilt. “Despite the horrible throbbing of my skull, I would say I’m having the **grandest** of times!”

The talk of pain bought sympathy from the woman, causing her brows to furrow from concern.

“Pain? Are the medications you’re on not enough?”

If Nygma needed a higher dosage, the doctors would need to be notified. This comment, however, did finally get the redheaded patient to look back at her, though his scathing mood didn’t lessen.

“Oh, my jaw is doing _well enough_ , all things considered. I was mostly speaking of the insufferable **headache** of having to go all  vis-à-vis with _pediculus pillocks_ once more.”

And with that his gaze landed on Penguin, as if to purposefully demonstrate his point.

Penguin glared and scowled back at him but said nothing, not understanding most of the words he’d said, but picking up enough to know he’d just been insulted.

“Uh-oh, _he’s speaking in tongues again!_ ” Ragdoll sang. “Who’s turn is it to call the exorcist?”

“Oh, can it!” Scarface snapped, before turning to face Dr. Leland. “Would you just tell those two to hug it out already so we can **_move on?_ **”

Hugging? **No.** But she had to agree with the doll for a change at least on one matter: _this animosity had gone on for too long._

“Edward… do you feel as if Oswald is to blame for your current state?” While Leland did want to move on to Waylon, perhaps it was better to get this out of the way so that things could carry on.

Riddler rolled his eyes.

“You mean for my new sense of headwear that would even make the likes of the **Hatter** cringe at its tackiness? Or **perhaps** you’re referring to the fact I’ve ended up back here, dredging among the squalor. _Forced to be a_ **_good boy_ ** _so maybe big Papa Barth will let me sit in his lap, so as to give me a treat?_ ” At this the man paused, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Hmm. **No** . No I can’t say I blame Cobblepot for that, even if one would _certainly_ call him a player in what transpired.”

All airiness that had encompassed the man curdled and soured, as his ire turned back to the other redhead in the room.

“No, Dr. Leland, my opinion on the matter is quite simple. **Riddle me this:**  It is hate and has hate in it, but in the end hate it is not. _What would you say I feel_?”

Now it was Oswald who turned to Dr. Leland, his scowl now a smirk. “He’s just mad I keep guessin’ all his stupid riddles.” He pointed in Nygma’s direction with a thumb. “Here, watch this.” He turned back to Nygma, his smirk still present.

“Hatred, right? Feeling’s mutual, Riddlejerk.”

The look Riddler was sporting was the equivalent of a man who had just been slapped in the face, while standing on holy ground in front a group of nuns, on the day of his mother’s funeral. Or at least, one would **assume** that something of such intensity happened to the man, as Edward looked at Oswald with utter shock and pain. Dr. Leland didn’t even get a chance to comfort the inmate, before Nygma was leaping from his seat– a throaty roar escaping him as he went straight for the man who had turned his existence into total suffering.

Dr. Leland screamed in surprise, jumping up from her chair so fast that it fell back onto the cement floor with a sickening CLACK.

“EDWARD! Get off of him!”

The woman ran towards the two, her concern only growing as Penguin gagged for breath. _He was choking him!_

”Guards!”

She cried, doing her best to pull the patients apart– her strength nothing against the ire of the Riddler.

“GUARDS!”

Edward only continued to squeeze all the harder, no longer was he a being of rational thought. All that flooded through him was anger– his pride murdered once more for a spectating audience. WELL, it was his turn to pay back the respects– **AND THEN SOME!**

Edward Nygma would yet again be met with disappointment, and then pain, as the orderlies burst into the room– tackling him to the ground as they were successfully able to pull the two apart. Riddler ceased his thrashing, his wind literally and figuratively knocked out of him, as he came back to the world by the screams of Leland and the manic laughter of Ragdoll’s filling the room.

“Oswald! Are you alright?” The doctor asked, having thrown herself to the floor to check on him the moment his attacker was removed. Her eyes were wide with panic, as she tried to help him at least sit up.

Oswald choked and sputtered and gasped for air, his panic dissipating before a burning, angry resentment overtook him. He struggled up into a sitting position, with the aid of the doc, and bared his teeth.

**_“You crazy freak!”_ ** Penguin shouted, his voice even more gravely than usual suddenly. **_“I’m gonna–_ **” He suddenly became aware of the attractive woman fretting at his side. That burning resentment was snuffed out immediately, and he decided to take a chance.

_“Why!_ ” He whimpered, knitting his brows together in the most pitiful expression he could muster. “I’m just tryna’ play along with his games, _and he tries to kill me!”_ He sniffed and buried his face in his hands, being sure to cover his eyes to make sure she couldn’t see he wasn’t actually crying. “And for what!” He blubbered. “Trying to be his friend? **_Oh, I give up!”_ **

Ragdoll wasn’t laughing now, in fact he was frowning quite deeply, as he watched the spectacle. _It was embarrassing._ Did Ozzy really think he could fool a trained psychologist? He glanced over and exchanged a look with Waylon, who rolled his eyes and huffed through his nose.

Joan Leland’s eyes had opened very wide at the reaction. She momentarily watched, stunned, as the patient wailed about his woes of friendship. While the doctor wasn’t buying the act _in the slightest_ – though she supposed after what occurred Penguin was granted the right to be _a little dramatic_ – her need as a medical provider won out in the end. The hand placed on Cobblepot’s back gave him a small rub of comfort, as she attempted to check him over.

“Are you **alright** , Oswald?” She asked again, trying to keep the focus on himself rather than the show the inmate was putting on. “Do you need to be escorted to the infirmary?”

In actuality, Oswald was feeling pretty great; the hand on his back was the first touch from an actual woman he’d felt in a very long time. He considered attempting to return the favor with a hand on her leg, but decided against it. Pushing his luck wasn’t going to get him anywhere here.

Oswald quickly glanced around at the other inmates sitting around them. Despite feeling fine, he also didn’t want to stick around for another session of _freaks and weirdos talk about their feelings._

“Y’know, doc, maybe I **_should_ **take a trip to the infirmary. I’m not feelin’ so good.”

Joan nodded, helping the inmate get to his feet. She motioned for one of the orderlies on standby to come over. Glasses only enhancing his stoic and ‘no-nonsense’ attitude.

“Mr. Garrison, please attend to Cobblepot and take him to get checked over. I believe Nurse Davis should be the one on duty.”

Luckily a male nurse, Leland couldn’t help but think, even if she tried not to let it color her handling of the patient. The doctor squeezed Penguin’s shoulder one more time in comfort, before turning back to the room.

“Please, back to your seats. I’d prefer this _incident_ not deterring us from the session.” The only polite way to refer to what happened without placing any blame. Joan made her way over to where Nygma had been placed into a straight jacket, still sitting on the floor. The man avoided eye contact, no doubt embarrassment coloring his ire this time around– and his ego had yet again been chipped away at. Despite the fact the man had been in the wrong, she couldn’t help but pity him regardless.

“Edward… Do you think you can sit with us still? I’d hope by the end of the session we can show that you’re not a danger to yourself or others, and can remove your restraints.”

She REALLY hated having to use the jackets, after all– and still, she would like to avoid having to follow protocol and have Nygma locked into solitary confinement. Personally she thought the act unjust and only hindered patients' recoveries, so she would prefer having reason to avoid it all together.

Riddler was pulled to hit feet by the orderlies that had hogtied and wrestled him to the floor to begin with– as if he was some kind of _common swine._ The very nerve! Nygma seethed, teeth gritted tightly and as wound as the rest of him. Still, avoiding eye contact, he took a subtle exhale of breath as he allowed himself to cool and regain his nonchalant demeanor.

“Why, _of course doctor_ . And miss the opportunity to show off this season’s fashion? I wouldn’t **dream** of it.”

Sarcasm was certainly better than the rage he had earlier, so Dr. Leland took it.

“Thank you, Edward.” Joan eyed the others, who were still standing. “Seats, please. We still need to check in with Waylon.”

Another collective grumble, but they did as they were told, sitting and turning their attention to Waylon. He returned their looks, eyes darting around to see all eyes on him. After a moment of silence, he gave a weak shrug.

_“I wouldn’t mind learnin’ how to knit.”_

* * *

 

A week had passed since then, and Oswald found himself being led down the hall to the recreation lounge. He’d requested it, as he had been going batty in his cell all alone.

He scanned the room once he was there, absentmindedly rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had just been. He frowned and groaned when he spotted Peter waving at him from the other end of the room, where he was just, sitting on the floor in what looked like an uncomfortable position.

_“Someone else…_ **_anyone_ ** _else!”_ Oswald muttered to himself. “Ah-hah! Bingo.” He spotted Arnold Wesker sitting on the couch. He made his way over, coming around the front of it to face the man who was quietly and happily knitting.

“Hey, down in front, I’m tryna watch the tube, here!”

“Huh?” Oswald raised a brow; Wesker hadn’t even noticed his arrival. “Oh.” He glanced over to see his doll sitting on the couch beside the Ventriloquist-- blank eyes staring up at him.

“Move over, Pinocchio.” Oswald shoved the doll all the way over and sat down next to Wesker. “Whatcha got there? Makin’ booties for the grandkids?”

He didn’t care. He just needed conversation.

“Oh,” Wesker’s voice trembled as he quickly righted the puppet back next to him– before his boss could even begin to be angry. Satisfied, Arnold pushed up his glasses back to sitting on his nose as he addressed the other rogue.

“Booties? Oh, oho, you’re _joking_ , sir.” This came out as a little laugh, just as shaky as the rest of him. Still, he smiled genuinely. “No, it’s a blanket. I’ve been working on it for a few days now.” He held it up, so as the other man could inspect it. It was a pastel yellow, and from what Penguin could tell, nothing about it LOOKED defective. “Do you, um, like it? I was thinking Mr. Scarface could certainly do with another– _he gets so cold at night, you see._ ”

Oswald frowned, eyes shifting from the blanket over to the puppet, then back to Arnold.

“Uh, yeah. Looks great. Yellow really brings out his, uh. Wood.”

“Don’t be lookin at that, you perv!” The doll shouted, causing Oswald to make a face and move away from them, closer to the other end of the couch. He swore the thing’s eyes followed him as he went.

“By the way,” Oh no, it was talking again. “been meanin’ ta ask, you and that Nygma guy, ’s that gonna be a thing now, or what?”

“What do you mean?” Oswald mumbled back, feeling a little stupid for giving in and talking to the dummy.

“What do ya think, birdbrain! You two are at each other’s throats every chance you get, what are ya, sworn enemies all of a sudden?”

Oswald didn’t answer, his gaze carefully shifting back over to Arnold, who, as per usual, didn’t seem to have anything to do with the current conversation.

“Hey, are’re you doin’ that, anyhow?” Oswald asked, pointing at Scarface, but refusing to look at it again.

“Hey, **_hello!_ ** I **asked** you a _question!_ ” Scarface snapped. Oswald kept his eyes focused on Arnold even still, mostly out of discomfort.

Whether it was from being addressed or Scarface’s sudden yelling, Wesker found himself flinching. The man squirmed as he felt all eyes on him, glass and organ alike. There was a reason he preferred being in the shadows of others, after all. _And it was mostly because being in the spotlight made him a very uncomfortable man._

“Oh, um, I’m sorry? I don’t think I know what you mean.” The Ventriloquist responded, finding himself shying away as he went back to his knitting– looping the yarn around a plastic needle.

After a momentary pause, Oswald leaned over to whisper to Arnold.

“Oh, come on, you can tell me!” He coaxed, his halfhearted smile looking closer to a nervous smirk. “Look, I know all about that, _breakin’ the magic thing_ you performer types are always worried about, but you don’t have to pretend when _Ozzy’s_ around.”

“Hey, **_creep!_ **Leave ‘im alone, woulda ya? Can’t you see you’re makin’ him uncomfortable with your nauseating fish breath?”

Oswald actually flinched; the voice had definitely come from the doll. That was beyond impressive; that was _uncanny._ He stared at Scarface in disbelief and mild fear.

“Seriously! How the heck are you **_doin’_ ** that!”

“Are you gonna **answer** my **_question,_ ** Dodo, or–”

**“Yeah, sure,** **_I guess_ ** **!”** Oswald practically shouted, throwing his hands into the air. “I keep **_solvin’_ ** his **puzzles** , he keeps tryna’ **kill** me over it, **I guess that’s a** **_thing_ ** **now!”**

“Aw, no reason to get your panties in a twist over it, I think it’s cute. Baby’s first rivalry! Ahah!”

Oswald grit his teeth and glared at the doll. “I have **plenty** of rivals, _I’ll have you know!”_

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you’re still _delusional_ enough t'think you’re anywhere **near** the Joker’s level. Wake up, moron, you ain’t his **rival,** you’re his _plaything._ The Riddler? Yeah, he’s more your speed.”

Oswald screamed through clenched teeth, causing it to come out as a muffled growl, and he managed to stop himself mid-lunge. He froze, face clearing into a look of slack, wide eyed realization.

“Whoa, I’m gettin’ all worked up over a _doll._ Maybe I **do** belong in here with the rest of these nut jobs.” He muttered.

Arnold had been weary ever since the other inmate had sat among him and his boss, but otherwise knew his place as he watched the conversation carry on. It was only once Scarface had finished saying his piece, that the Ventriloquist dared to ask the question that was on his mind. He finished off his row before starting a new one, keeping his focus on his work so as to avoid eye contact.

“Mr. Cobblepot… have you ever considered **NOT** answering his riddles? Especially if doing so will just get, well, _get him riled up and_ **_hurting_ ** _you again_?”

Not advice he personally wouldn’t have followed, mind you. Arnold Wesker knew he was easily intimidated, and would give into anything if he thought it would save him from violence– save for betraying Mr. Scarface. _Even he had his limit._ **STILL** , Penguin on the other hand had more… conviction about him. If he didn’t want to play a game with the other rogue, surely he could just… not do so.

“Whuh– **_not answer?!_ ** They’re so **_easy_ ** , how could I **not** !” Oswald sputtered. “… Huh, come to think of it, I guess I **could** not.” He added, contemplatively, rubbing his chin.

“Oh! I know why. Because he’s a smug **_jerk_ ** who **deserves** to be knocked down a peg or three!” Oswald grinned, proud of himself for finding an answer. That, too, had become a trend lately.

“Uh huh. Sounds to me like you just like bein’ knocked around a little.”

Oswald frowned and snuck a quick glaring glance at the doll, despite knowing full well it hadn’t been him who’d said it.

“Bein’ strangled is only fun when it’s a woman. And not when they’re tryna’ kill me!”

An awkward silence stretched out for a few moments. Then Scarface replied.

“Yeah y'know that might be the first time one of my insults backfired. We didn’t need to know that. Share a little less next time, huh?”

It was around this time that the door to the room had been opened once more, as another patient was escorted inside. As a reflex, a good many inmates let their gaze linger over: and it was by doing so that one would be able to see that the likes of Edward Nygma was now among them.

While the Riddler did his best to hold his airs of importance, this was only mildly ruined by the fact his face was adorned by a compression wrap– his jaw fixed securely in place. ( _Making the man look more like he was about to enter a match for a junior wrestling meet more so than recreation time with the most maladjusted members of Gotham._ ) Nygma, however, didn’t let this damage his pride nor swagger– bourgeoisie meant nothing to the likes of him anyway. He merely wished to enjoy the privileges that had only been granted back that very day.

Edward’s eyes lingered over the room, his gaze snapping towards the speck of obnoxious orange fins among the sea of mundane. The villain found his teeth clenching, his nonchalant attitude souring. However, just as fast, Riddler huffed silently to himself, making a purpose to look around the room for something else. The man had been embarrassed enough by the likes of Penguin. That troll meant **nothing** to him; this wasn’t becoming an obsession, he had to remind himself. Batman was at least a worthy opponent, in his own right. It made _sense_ to ponder and plot how to best the likes of **him** . The Dark Knight against the Prince of all Puzzles– a competition of nobility. But _Cobblepot_ , that peasant?  No, not even worth an iota of thought. The man had been _lucky_ , simple as that.

_Luck did not equate to genius._

And it was with that thought that Edward’s gaze landed onto the chessboard over by the side of the room– his mind only momentarily fluttering with the nonsensical fancy of wishing Tetch or Crane could have been there to play against him. Still, it was out of the way, and would allow him time to access the rest of the room.

And, more importantly, away from the sofa where _someone he wasn’t considering_ was sitting.

Peter Merkel hadn’t bothered attempting to chat up Oswald, mostly due to the fact he was talking with Scarface. That weird little doll gave him the **_creeps!_ ** And so, he’d continued to sit alone, and think his thoughts.

He had tired of that quickly, but luckily, opportunity happened to walk right through the door, and seat himself at the chess table. In a flash, the contortionist was up and slipping into the seat across from Edward, grinning at him from over the table.

_“Hiiii there.”_ He twiddled his fingers in a sort of wave. “Edward Nygma I haven’t seen you in **_days!_ ** I thought _for sure_ you’d flown the coop again. But here you are, and just in time! _Do you play?_ ” He gestured to the board.

Riddler raised a brow, searching the other rogue’s face for some sort of trick or deceit– the limber lunatic was known to be just as _jolly_ as the Joker, after all. Wanting to crawl under another's skin-- and would very much choose to live there, if given ample opportunity. Edward allowed himself the opportunity to relax into his seat, purposefully showing the man he was no threat to HIM.

“ _Naturally_ ,” Nygma responded, letting a hand rest against his cheek as he leaned onto the table. “Quite frankly I’m more surprised that **YOU** would. _You never seemed like the type._ ” The man couldn’t even find the time to learn how to fix his **illiteracy** , however in the world would have have made time for more _intellectual pursuits_?

Still, company after so many days alone in his cell was enough for him to consider taking the man up on the offer– reaching for the white pieces that were resting in the box on the side of the table as he carried on.

“I’m not used to see you _playing by your lonesome_ , “ The redhead said sarcastically, setting up his side of the board. “You’re usually following **somebody** or another– like a dog begging for scraps. Starving for attention, are we, that you’re climbing into **my** lap, hoping I’ll _scratch that itch?_ ”

Merkel’s grin faltered at Riddler’s remarks, and then fell into a sly, lopsided smirk. He busied himself setting up his own pieces, he knew enough about the game to know where the different bits began, and so the farce was set.

“I’m **_flattered_ ** , but let’s start with _c_ _hess_ first, followed by a lovely candle light dinner, and **then** maybe I’ll sit on your lap.” He ended this with a mad titter, and his grin was back. “ _So tell me, where’ve ya been?”_ He asked, stretching the last word out with a lilt.

The flirting received an eye roll from the Riddler. Nygma picked up one of his pawn, allowing it to do its jump to H4.

“I’ll tell you if you’ll never say anything like **THAT** to me again.” Not that he expected Ragdoll to do so either way. So he carried on. “Leland kept her promise with persuading Bartholomew not to send me to a padded suite, but Kellerman still insisted I be kept to myself. Thus, punished to stay in my room until _daddy thought I learned a lesson._ ”

Dr. Kellerman was his assigned psychiatrist– and most likely one of the biggest idiots he had come up against with a degree. While Bartholomew could be oblivious, he seemed to at least mean well in his own way. Kellerman, however– well, his stupidity could be _dangerous_ .  Whether it was from insisting something must have went **wrong** in Edward’s childhood, to his handling of **OTHER** patients like Lyle Bolton ( _good riddance to_ **_THAT_ ** _barbarian_ ), Stephen Kellerman– in the end– was more trouble than he was worth keeping around. Even if he _had_ come in handy in the past, having been able to convince the man of his reformation and thus having been allowed his freedom to start a collaboration with Baxter over at Wacko Toys. ( _A clever ruse for grander ambitions._ )

Still… being locked away for playing a little too rough with the other boys hadn’t been good for his mind– the large sized book of crossword puzzles he had been given for the month having been worked through within the first few days alone. Having left Nygma utterly **bored**.

Ragdoll opened his mouth and took a breath, the words ’ _Keep calling him_ **_that_ ** _and he might let_ **_you_ ** _sit on_ **_his_ ** _lap’_ spring loaded and ready to go, and then thought better of it, closing his mouth, uttering only another short titter in reply. He knew Nygma had a much shorter fuse than some of the other inmates, and while he didn’t think the man would **attack** him like he’d done to Ozzy, he still didn’t want Nygma to get up and _leave_ just yet.

“Well!” He took one of the pieces that resembled the one Nygma had just moved, a small one with a little round head, and moved it one space ahead, glancing up as if asking silent approval of a valid move. “I’m glad you see you’re _out on good behavior_ . And Ozzy’ll be glad, too, **_I’m sure._ ** ” It was difficult to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “He _talks_ about you **_constantly.”_ ** He gushed. His grin fell suddenly, along with the rest of his expression, now looking very uncharacteristically deadpan and annoyed.

“It’s really starting to get irritating.” He added, his tone just as deadpan as his expression.

Nygma scoffed, moving his rook to H3.

“ _I hardly see how that’s_ **_my_ ** _problem._ I can’t control what comes out from another, especially when I’m out of commission.”

Not that Riddler expected the one he attacked to be over it by now, he supposed. Still, despite his better judgement, the criminal continued with the conversation.

”Pray tell, are your usual acts of aggravating Penguin simply not rubbing him the way they **used** to? The man no longer feeling that **spark** ? _My condolences,_ truly. I hear Dr. Leland does commendable work with couples these days, _you might want to take advantage of her services._ ”

Edward’s words amused Ragdoll greatly, but he forced his smile down into a deep frown, sighed, and shook his head.

“No, it’s too late for that. He won’t even _kiss_ me anymore!” He replied, in a rather convincing, on the verge of tears waver. Not that Oswald had ever once done such a thing to begin with. “Used to be, all I had to do was vaguely hint at him being gay, and he’d _go off!_ But now… well, I just can’t **compete** with a guy who _pounces on and strangles_ him! **_You’re_ ** _not even playing_ **_fair.”_ **

Merkel took the tip of his index finger and pushed the little piece that looked like a castle tower one space ahead.

It was Nygma’s turn to frown– not only from Ragdoll’s commentary, but from his playing as well. So far the man had simply been mirror with an exception of one off. Mirroring itself was pretty commonplace, as things like ‘the Four Knights Openings’ existed. This, however, was nothing like that strategy, and if anything resemble a poor man's attempt at ‘ _monkey see- monkey do_ ’.  Riddler had a theory, and he was willing to test it as he had his rook move to F3.

“By all means, choke the man yourself. It was quite therapeutic, if you want my HONEST opinion.” It was while saying this the redhead found the corner of his lips quirking in amusement. Although, it didn’t last long as his mood sobered– his expression hardening. “You’ll be happy to note I don’t plan on pulling that stunt again anytime soon. Be it for me to ruin the good thing between the two of you– _Cobblepot simply isn’t_ **_worth_ ** _the trouble_.”

“Leaving the poor man high and dry with no one to pick up the slack but little old me? _Edward Nygma_ , you are a cruel, cruel man.” Merkel tutted and shook his head, and then reached out to mirror the opponent’s last move. This time, however, he glanced up and smirked at him knowingly from across the table. He’d been civil for long enough, it was simply in his nature to see how far he could push people before they snapped.

“Your move.” He sang, nonchalantly.

The move told Edward Nygma **everything**.

“ _I knew it!_ ” Riddler cried out, all talk of Penguin completely forgotten as he glared at the man across from him. “When you inquired about my ability to play earlier, I suppose I should have phrased it as ‘COULD you play’ rather than ‘would’. You can’t just move your pieces about all _willy nilly_ – there are RULES to the game, you oaf!”

Ragdoll gave an exaggerated pout.

“Aww, but your hat loving pal let me do whatever I wanted last time we played. He seemed to _liiiike_ it.”

“One, need I remind you that Tetch ISN’T my friend– _he’s a colleague._ And two,” Here the Prince of Puzzles paused, his air for dramatics forcing the other rogue to hold onto his every word. He looked down at the nimble nitwit with disdain. “Don’t confuse being desperate for affection– _you of all people should know that_ . Tetch will put up with anything just so he won’t be forced alone with his thought. **I** , however, expect **more** from an opponent. So **shut** up, **sit** up, _and perhaps you’ll actually learn something for once in your life._ ”

At this, Ragdoll grinned ever wider, resting his head in his hands, elbows propped up on the chess table.

“Oh, goody. I’m all ears.”

He’d just disobeyed both the sit up, and the shut up orders, and things only got worse from there. He learned nothing that day, but he did have a good time. And, perhaps best of all, they’d provided each other with a much needed distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art, as always, by the ever talented Mica: https://micaxiii.tumblr.com/


End file.
